A Chance Encounter
Read A Chance Encounter Online
Authors: Lindsay McKenna
Lindsay McKenna
Taylor Grant, burned-out big-city reporter, can’t believe his eyes. The gypsy sprite kneeling beside him, as fresh and winsome as a child, has healed a heart-attack victim simply by touching him! It’s a terrific story—but Katie Riordan’s not talking. She’s incensed when he publishes the incident anyway, attracting to her hordes of curiosity seekers…and one threatening phone caller.
Appalled because he’s hurt her, Taylor offers help…and finds enchantment in her arms. Exotically endearing, demurely provocative, Katie brings new life to his weary world. He hungers for what she possesses, while doubting it even exists…and fights to protect her from a dark, encroaching danger…
To Patricia Comfort who is as magical as the heroine of this story.
“Is this the best you can do?” Taylor Grant asked his partner dryly. With his shrewd police reporter’s eye, honed over seven years in the trenches of New York City, he didn’t miss a thing. Taylor’s gaze narrowed critically on the menu he held in his large, lean hands.
“Hey, this is the best health-food restaurant in San Diego County, Taylor. Don’t knock it.” Barry settled comfortably into the well-padded booth as the restaurant rapidly filled to capacity with noontime patrons.
“I said I was hungry, not crazy. This is rabbit food. Isn’t there one dish that has some meat in it?” Taylor scowled, his walnut-colored brows dipping with displeasure as he quickly perused the offerings on the menu.
“It’ll do you good,” Barry assured him. “You need vitamins, Taylor. At the moment, you look like hell—pasty-faced, circles under your eyes.” He studied his friend for a moment and added, “Trust me. You’re going to grow healthy and flourish here in the Land of Sunshine.”
“The Land of Fruits and Nuts, you mean,” Grant said darkly. “And the only reason I don’t have a tan is that I prowl around at night when the sun doesn’t shine. It’s not from poor health.”
The photographer grinned broadly and gestured toward the crowded restaurant. “Do you see one unhealthy person in here?” he demanded. “Come on, raise your head and check it out!”
Grudgingly, Taylor lifted his square-jawed face to let his gray-eyed gaze sweep the room. “What I see is that most of these people look as though they could use a thick porterhouse steak. Put a little red blood into their gaunt-looking faces, Williams.” Unhappily, he perused the menu, still hoping to find meat somewhere among the bizarre offerings.
“‘Mung bean delight,’” Taylor groaned.
“Try the pita and alfalfa sprout sandwich,” Barry suggested good-naturedly.
Taylor glared at him. “Do I look like a damn cow?”
“More like a bull ready to destroy a china shop.”
“You’re the one slinging around the bull about health food. I’m the one who’s going to destroy you for talking me into coming here.”
Barry, who was twenty-five, skinny and had a thatch of red hair, grinned happily. “Like I said, Taylor—you look terrible. After all, if I’m going to be the photographer for a celebrated crime reporter, I have a vested interest in keeping him healthy. It only makes sense, in terms of my career.” Barry rubbed his long, large-knuckled hands together—like a man getting ready to eat a steak, Taylor mused gloomily.
He searched the menu a third time, trying to find a dish with a name he recognized. “There’s a McDonald’s across the street. I’d even settle for a fish sandwich, kid.” In the next moment Taylor chastised himself. He shouldn’t call Barry Williams a kid. But hell, at thirty-five, he not only felt his age, but he was tired. And it showed. He had gotten up grudgingly that morning and tripped over a box that had yet to be unpacked. Holding his injured big toe in his hands, he had hopped into the bathroom of his newly rented house. He hated anything bright in the morning. And that included the sun. He had no choice but to flip on the bathroom light, which destroyed what little good humor he had left.
The sight that met Taylor’s blurred vision in the mirror wasn’t exactly exciting.
Frightening
was a more accurate word. Dark shadows hovered beneath his bloodshot, gray eyes, and his normally full, square face now seemed gaunt. First he had bumped his toe—it was still aching like crazy—and then he’d had to face himself. That hurt, too. He had tried to shave without making eye contact with his image in the mirror. Taylor’s perverse sense of humor surfaced and he added a new axiom to his growing list of sayings: “Shaving with your eyes closed can be harmful to your face.”
Raising his hand, he gingerly touched one of the razor cuts on his rock-hard jaw. Had that slash really been an accident, or had he been trying to slit his throat and get it all over with? Grant shook his head.
He reminded himself grimly that this was a fresh start. He had left his tension back East along with that frenzied job. This was California, and he had it made. No more investigative reporting of murders, rapes and kidnappings. No more nightmares from which he would wake up to the sound of his own screams. He had a new job, an easier reporting load. No more of the tension that kept his gut twisted in a knot most of the time. For he was a victim of PTSD, post traumatic stress disorder, the physician had informed him. And he was headed for an ulcer if he didn’t make some changes in his life.
So he’d made a complete change and he was beginning to regret it already.
“Taylor!” Barry snapped.
“What?”
“Where’d you disappear to? Dude, you were a million miles away.”
Don’t I wish,
Taylor thought unhappily. Maybe he should have taken a vacation between jobs. A long one. Maybe it hadn’t been smart to leave one job, drive across country with his meager possessions and begin working for the
Rio Conchos Sun
right away.
“Just a little tired,” Taylor lied glibly, believing it was no one’s business how he was really feeling. And then he winced slightly. Mary Ann had resented that attitude; she’d accused him of keeping himself closed up like a clamshell, never sharing his feelings with her. Savagely, he stuffed the dirty laundry of his memories away and forced himself to reread the menu. “I’ll try the grilled-cheese sandwich. At least I know what’s in it.”
Barry relaxed his tall, skinny frame and grinned broadly. “It’s served with a side order of tofu garnished with alfalfa sprouts.”
“No French fries?”
“High in cholesterol—didn’t you know?”
“Why don’t these people let me worry about the state of my health instead of imposing their values on me?”
“Anybody drag you in here?”
“Yeah, you.”
“I think you should get to know all the business people here in Rio Conchos. If any news breaks, they know to call our office. That way we get it fresh and fast. Never hurts to make friends among the landed gentry, Taylor. And many of them come here to eat. This is an ‘in’ restaurant.”
Taylor closed the menu as the waitress came over to take their order. Why did Barry have that look of glee on his youthful features? Was it his imagination, or was Barry enjoying Taylor’s discomfort?
No,
he reminded himself; he was just jaded and overly suspicious. But then the kid aimed a lopsided grin at him, his hazel eyes dancing, and Taylor’s unease returned.
“‘Tomorrow I decide where we eat, Williams. Payback is a—”
There was a loud crash at the front of the restaurant. Out of instinct, Taylor Grant whirled around toward the noise. Everyone in the crowd had looked up momentarily, startled by the sound. Grant’s gray eyes narrowed with intense concentration. A woman had entered through the brass-trimmed, glass doors, a cumbersome load of books in her arms, and had apparently tripped. A dozen or so heavy volumes lay scattered helter-skelter at her feet. The distraught look on her perfectly oval face spurred Taylor into action. What was he doing? Sit back down, Grant. Ignoring his own order, he shot to his feet and strode toward the woman.
His reporter’s eye quickly examined her face and clothing as he approached her, no detail escaping his thorough inspection. Black hair fell in a cloud around her proud shoulders and tumbled down over small, firm breasts hidden beneath a feminine peasant blouse. She looked like a gypsy, he thought, slowing down as he approached her. The full skirt reminded him of a patchwork quilt: a burst of color against the stark whiteness of the simple blouse. Her flushed cheeks looked beautiful against the milky smoothness of her skin. Grant felt robbed of his breath as she tilted back her head and met his gaze. It was as if someone had struck him in the chest. He halted in front of her. The woman’s eyes—a glorious blue, like polished lapis lazuli shot with molten gold in their vulnerable depths—met his startled gaze.
In the seconds that followed, it was almost as though lightning crackled between them. She looked young, her eyes wide open like a child’s and filled with a deep trust of the world around her. Her lips, the color of a pomegranate, were parted, begging to be kissed—especially the full lower lip, which he suspected could form a teasing pout that would drive any male crazy. Groaning to himself, Grant tried to get control of his emotions. He never acted this way!
“Dumb!” Katie Riordan muttered, dropping to her knees, the patchwork skirt billowing around her in a profusion of color. She began to gather the books into a pile.
“Here—let me help you.”
Her heart took a silly skip in her breast. Katie didn’t know whether it was embarrassment over having caused a scene or the handsome stranger’s piercing, gray eyes as they touched her. “Thank you,” she whispered breathlessly. “Oh, I feel so foolish!”
Taylor crouched down, picking up a few of the tomes, and smiled. She seemed as helpless as an autumn leaf twirling in a playful breeze. “Don’t be embarrassed. It could’ve happened to anyone,” he soothed. And then he laughed at himself. What was he saying? When had he last reached out to make someone else feel at ease? Not for a long time…but then, she looked so much like a child that Taylor couldn’t help himself. Her black, curly hair shining with blue highlights tempted him to run his fingers through it; to stroke it into submission. He noticed her hands: beautiful, artistic hands, long and slender. There was a winsomeness about her; she was like a fragile princess appearing right out of the pages of a fairy tale. But it was her breathless freshness that made Taylor Grant feel an unfamiliar ache in the region of his heart. He envied her freedom of expression, that intangible quality that made her a blazing sunbeam in his darkened world.
She laughed. “Things like this happen to me all the time. Maud calls me Katie the Klutz. And Claire, the owner of this restaurant, calls me Katie the Whirlwind.” Her mouth closed in silent amusement as she stretched her petite form to capture the last of the books. “I’m afraid I was in a hurry as usual—a million things on my mind—when I came through those doors. I stubbed my toe….”
Taylor sat back on his haunches, watching her stack the books. “You and I have something in common, then. I stubbed my toe this morning, too.”
She lifted her chin, unconsciously pushing that ebony mass away from one blazing cheek as she looked at him. “That’s a sign that things are changing,” she informed him. Her fluttering heart took another thump in her breast, and a magical warmth flowed through Katie as she met and drowned herself in his intelligent gray eyes, which reminded her of a hawk’s. He had a face that some might shrink from. He wasn’t handsome in the conventional sense. But to her he looked like a warrior. And then her imagination took flight. He was a knight, she decided, and he was tired from all the battles he had fought. She could see the exhaustion in those pewter depths. He seemed to look through her.
Katie found herself eagerly searching his face. He hid a great deal behind that implacable mask he wore. A square face, a strong jaw, a stubborn chin that dared anyone to try to change his mind. She laughed to herself. This man was self-sufficient—or tried to be—in every area of his life. She liked his broad shoulders and the controlled power that seemed to radiate from his body.
Yes
, she thought, he truly was a knight in shining armor. And if her intuition was working properly today—some days she failed to listen to it and found herself in hot water—this man was strong, with a heart-wrenching tenderness buried within his depths. But one look into those penetrating gray eyes and Katie knew he had not allowed anyone to get near his vulnerable, human side.
“Stubbing your toe means change?” he drawled.
“Absolutely. There’s no such thing as an accident.
Everything happens for a reason.”
A scowl gathered between his brows. Taylor lifted the books from the highly polished, wood floor. Katie stood, a movement imbued with the grace of one who had studied ballet for years. She couldn’t be over five feet two, he decided, even in her sandaled feet, but something about her carriage made her appear taller. Was it the tilt of her chin or the proud squaring of her small shoulders? “There’s no reason for the way this world of ours works,” he countered and placed the books in her waiting arms. His mind fled back to the horror of the crimes he had covered for seven grim years. “No reason,” he muttered blackly.
Katie was stunned. She’d had no idea how tall he was until he stood. Not only were his shoulders broad, but his chest was massive above a narrow waist and hips.
A cat,
her imagination whispered. A wild, primitive animal lurked beneath the controlled surface of this man, in his short-sleeved burgundy shirt and charcoal-gray slacks. Taking a shaky breath, Katie forced a smile. “Thank you for helping me. That was very kind of you.”
Taylor allowed his hands to rest languidly on his hips as he studied her. “Kind?” His voice sounded hard and jaded even to his own ears. Why couldn’t he be civil? Because he didn’t feel civil. But she didn’t deserve his caustic comments. No, there was a cleanliness and purity to her that was somehow slipping inside those walls he had erected around himself a long time ago. Taylor watched her face show distress at his gruff manner and immediately he felt contrite. “Don’t worry about it,” he said stiffly and turned away.
By the time Grant returned to his booth, she had seated herself at the last unoccupied table in the restaurant. He combed his fingers through his short, dark hair, angry with himself.
You’re a bastard, Grant. She’d just needed some help. You could have been a bit friendlier.
“Better hurry up and eat,” Barry coaxed. “Your lunch will get cold.”
Taylor picked up the sandwich and pried the slices of bread apart, warily eyeing the filling. Satisfied it was cheese with no unidentifiable additions, he moodily began to eat. Throughout the meal, Taylor kept one ear keyed to Barry’s conversation and the other to the chatter surrounding them. But his gaze inevitably strayed back to the woman. What did she call herself? Katie the Klutz? Katie the Whirlwind? How could she sit quietly eating, yet seem to be in a constant state of animation? It was as if some energy radiated from around her, like an invisible windstorm. Shaking his head, Taylor decided he was simply losing his mind. But then, he had never been normal. An abnormal childhood, an abnormal marriage now destroyed, an exhausting job that had worn him out and made him cynical. Was it too late for him to change?
