A Chance Encounter (2 page)

He rummaged around in his mind, trying to determine why Katie affected him so profoundly. All he knew was that when his eyes fell into those lovely, blue pools flecked with gold, he’d felt a stirring of hope. She was a romantic, he decided glumly, an idealist who tripped blissfully through life until somebody reached out to yank her back down into ugly reality. He was actually envious of her, he decided. But he hungered like a starving man for what she possessed, even though simultaneously he wanted to rip it from her. Life was harsh, after all, not some pie-in-the-sky fairy tale where dreams come true.

And every time Taylor lifted his head to stare moodily across the restaurant at Katie, he felt a longing that made him want to fling himself into her arms and feel her warmth around him. Be held and protected for just a moment. One moment…

His thoughts were short-circuited when a man five tables away suddenly clutched his chest and fell to the floor. Taylor was on his feet instantly. The other patrons froze, staring down at the man who lay gasping for breath.

Katie dropped her fork, horrified. Her eyes widened as the stranger strode across the room like a jungle cat and dropped to his knees beside the victim. Her heart pounded as he leaned over the stricken man, who was thrashing wildly on the floor as if trying to get his breath. The stranger jerked the tie from the victim’s throat and yanked open the man’s collar and belt. The restaurant was heavy with shocked silence, and Katie realized the victim was having a heart attack.

“Does anyone here know CPR?” the rescuer thundered.

Katie blinked at the growling force of his voice. It was an in-charge tone that jarred the stonelike patrons. The victim’s face was bluish-gray—he was nearly unconscious now—and she watched the stranger tilt the lolling head back.

“Move, dammit! I need help!”

Frustration warred with anger as Taylor glared up at Williams. The photographer shrugged apologetically.
Figures,
Taylor thought. What would a bunch of vegetarians know about real life?

Taylor keenly assessed the now-unconscious man. Jerking his head up, he snarled, “Call 911!”

He was about to begin resuscitation, when Taylor saw a flash of color and watched the patchwork skirt settle opposite him. It was Katie, her eyes wide. For some reason, the closeness of her shook him. Before he could tell her what to do, she placed her left hand over the victim’s heart. Taylor blinked once, aware of a mild tingling flowing up through his fingers, which were resting on the victim’s neck and forehead. Suddenly, the man’s bluish pallor was replaced by the flush of life. Color flowed back into his cheeks. What the hell was going on? Taylor started to speak, but Katie’s hushed voice broke through his turmoil.

“Keep his head tilted back so he can breathe.”

Taylor scowled darkly, keeping one hand on the man’s neck to check his pulse. But his eyes were on Katie. He could feel something. But it wasn’t visible. And it was unlike anything he had ever felt in his life. Katie was kneeling over the man, her slender white hand gently pressed to his chest, her expression rapt and—and what? Taylor wet his lips. Suddenly he was afraid. The man had been in the throes of a heart attack seconds before. As soon as Katie laid her hand on him, he had begun to recover.

Katie swallowed a lump in her throat, aware of the stranger’s predatory, gray eyes piercing her. The silence in the restaurant was ominous. Suddenly a camera flashed…once, twice, three times. Katie swung her head sharply away from Barry.

“No!” she cried, throwing out one hand. “Don’t!”

Barry Williams ignored her, moving quickly around to Taylor to get a better shot. He clicked the Canon digital camera twice more, ignoring Katie’s protests. Excitedly he looked down at Taylor.

“Dude, I don’t believe this! Lucky we happened to be on the scene. I got some good pictures, Taylor. This’ll make a neat little feature story.”

Oh, no!
Katie bowed her head, anguish flooding her. This was the very thing she had sworn never to allow! She felt the eyes of the stranger examining her as if she were an insect under a microscope.

“Who are you?” Taylor rasped softly. “What are you—”

At that instant a team of paramedics burst into the restaurant, and Katie leaped to her feet. Quickly darting through the gathering crowd, she made it back to her table. Grabbing her purse and books, she whirled around, seeking escape. The restaurant’s rear entrance was accessible and she virtually flew down the hall and flung the back door open.

A strong hand closed firmly over her arm, bringing her to a halt just outside the door. Katie whirled, the cloud of black hair swirling around her pale face. She thrust out her other hand and met the hard, uncompromising wall of his chest. Her lips parted and she gasped.

“You…” she whispered.

Taylor’s eyes narrowed with keen intensity on her upturned face. “I’m Taylor Grant, reporter for the
Rio Conchos Sun.
I want to know what just happened. Who the devil are you anyway? You put your hand on that man, and he immediately started to recover. The color came back to his face.” He turned to look over his shoulder, toward the restaurant. ‘The paramedics say he’s stable now.” His gaze burned into her. “What did you do?”

Katie uttered a small whimper, trying to twist out of his grip. He wasn’t hurting her, although he could have, with his long, strong-looking fingers wrapped around her upper arm. Her heart thrashed like a wild bird inside her breast. “Please,” she begged, “let me go. Nothing happened. Nothing—”

“Something happened.” His mouth curled into a bloodless smile. “I want your name and address. I need to find out more about you and—”

“‘No!” The cry was torn from her, and Katie wrenched out of his grip, stumbling backward and almost falling. She pushed her hair from her eyes as she continued to breathe hard, her cheeks flushed scarlet. “Don’t pursue this! Please don’t! You don’t understand. No one will.”

Taylor shook his head determinedly. “Sorry, lady. I can’t just back away. You’re news, whether you want to be or not. You saved that guy’s life!” And then mockery glinted in his eyes. “That is, unless you staged this whole thing for our benefit.” His voice grew silken. “Sure you don’t want some publicity? Did that guy put on an act?”

Katie’s eyes flashed deep blue fire. “You are the most distrusting person I’ve ever met!” she sputtered indignantly. “I don’t want anything from you. Can you understand that? Just go away and leave me alone!” She wrenched her arm out of his grip and fled from him.

Taylor watched her run around the corner of the brick building and disappear. A slight smile hovered on his mouth. “Sorry, baby, I can’t do that,” he said softly. “You’re either a very clever fake or a genuine miracle worker.”

As he walked back into the restaurant, Taylor found himself hoping she really was a miracle worker. She was so incredibly beautiful….

“Dude,” Barry said with glee as he returned to their table, “that was eerie! I mean, she just kneeled down beside that guy and put her hand on him. And all of a sudden his color came back!” Barry shook his head wonderingly. “Who was she anyway?”

“That’s exactly what I intend to find out,” Taylor growled. He waited for the babble to die down after the paramedics had left with their stabilized patient. Then he strode up to the owner of the restaurant, introduced himself and got her name.

Claire Garvey was shaken by the turn of events. Touching her brow, she frowned. “I’m sorry, who did you say you were?”

Taylor repeated his credentials, watching her face grow pale. “Who was that woman, Mrs. Garvey?”

“Why—uh, she comes in here to eat from time to time.”

Taylor compressed his lips. “She mentioned you as if you were a friend, so you must know her last name. Where does she work?”

Claire’s brown eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why do you want to know, Mr. Grant?”

“Look,” he said, his voice tinged with impatience, “this Katie might be a miracle worker, but it seems more than likely that she’s a fake. Either way, it’s a story, and I want to interview her. But I can’t do that unless you’ll tell me who she is.” He grimaced. He was talking about Katie as if she were an object to be investigated, not a human being. It was obvious that Mrs. Garvey wasn’t very happy with his attitude, either.

“Now listen here,” she said. “Katie is a very special person. Everyone loves her and she is not a fake.”

Taylor’s eyes darkened. “You saw what happened.”

“Yes, everyone did.”

“And you’re not surprised?”

Claire Garvey shook her head. “No, I’m not. As I said, Katie is special. Anyone she touches is better off for it.”

Taylor had to concede the point. He had felt a strange sense of peace surrounding Katie as she knelt down beside the cardiac victim. And he had felt something else—a strange twinge in his heart—as he watched her rapt face. Katie had been in another world. How could he describe the glow on her face or the burning, cobalt color of her eyes as she caressed the victim with her gaze? He mentally shook himself.
Come on, Grant. Knock it off! You’re getting soft. Soft-headed would be more like it.
He focused his gaze on Claire Garvey, who appeared to be extremely nervous.

“Special in what way?”

“I can’t discuss it with you, Mr. Grant. Katie’s gifts are her own business, not mine.” ‘

Barry wandered over. “Hey, Taylor, I’m hoofin’ it back to the office. Gotta process these shots. They turned out real well.”

Claire frowned. “Really, Mr. Grant, you have no business writing anything about Katie or even taking her picture. She doesn’t like publicity.”

One eyebrow moved upward. “Oh?” Taylor said skeptically.

“Absolutely. Katie wants anonymity.”

Taylor grinned. “She’s not exactly going about it in the right way, is she, Mrs. Garvey?”

Claire Garvey glared up at him. “Leave her alone,” she said, enunciating every word.

Taylor lifted his chin, looking over at the table where Katie had sat. Her books were still piled there, in untidy stacks. That would help, he thought, a genuine smile tilting the corners of his mouth. “Thanks, Mrs. Garvey,” he murmured, walking toward the table.

“I’ll see you later, Taylor,” Barry called.

“Right. I’ll want to see those photos when I get back. Tell the editor I’ll have the story ready for the evening edition.” Taylor halted by Katie’s table. Was it his imagination, or could he smell the lingering lilac fragrance that seemed to surround her? She had left one of her books behind. He flipped through it, looking for a clue to her identity. There was a lavender sticker inside the back cover that read. Unicorn Bookstore. Taylor shut the book, tucked it under his arm and he went out the rear exit and walked to his black Toyota Camry.

Because he was still unfamiliar with Rio Conchos, which nestled against the wealthy area known as La Jolla, Taylor punched the address into his GPS unit. Perhaps someone at the Unicorn Bookstore would remember Katie, he mused, far more curious over the chain of events than he cared to admit.

Katie Riordan flew through the door of the Unicorn Bookstore. The silvery head of Maud Winthrop jerked up.

“Good grief, Katie girl, what on earth is the rush?”

Katie came to a halt, glancing around the store nervously. “Oh, nothing, Maud. Nothing. I’m sorry I’m late. Why don’t you go along to lunch now?”

Maud came out from behind the desk that served as a cash register and office for the store. “Ain’t been very busy since you left. Oh, Mrs. Clark called to say she’s bringing Amanda to you. Seems the cat has a terrible cold, and she was wonderin’ if you’d help.”

Distracted, Katie bumped into the corner of the dark mahogany desk. “Ouch! Of course…uh, did you put her down with the other afternoon appointments, Maud?”

Maud, who was shaped like a plump pigeon, picked up her black leather purse. “Sure did, Katie. Have a nice lunch?”

Katie bit her lip. She never lied, but there was no sense in worrying Maud just because she herself was upset. “Let’s put it this way—it wasn’t boring. Now, shoo!”

Maud’s brown eyes took on a lively twinkle. “Okay, okay. It takes me a minute to get my eighty-four-year-old body in gear. Do you need anything?”

Yes
, Katie thought desperately. “No, thank you. Go on, I’ll hold down the fort.”

Maud walked out of the bookstore, and quiet settled in around Katie. Some of the strain disappeared from her face as she put on some music. Anything to soothe herself. She sat down and buried her face in her hands. The mass of black curls spilled around her shoulders. How could she have been so stupid? The man was a reporter! Oh, Lord, what was she going to do? And that photographer…Katie groaned, raising her eyes skyward.

“Okay, guys and girls, I don’t know what you’re up to, but I don’t like it,” she muttered under her breath. “Not one bit.” And yet, her eyes softened when she thought of Taylor Grant’s strength, his masculinity and that hidden streak of tenderness she had detected in him. And just as quickly, a flash of annoyance replaced her momentary peace.
That cynic!
How dare he intimate she was a fake! She rummaged through messy piles of bills and book orders on the desk. Well, if the cosmos were on her side, the whole incident would quickly blow over and be forgotten. Crossing her fingers for a moment, Katie closed her eyes and wished with all her might that the man named Grant would let the matter drop.

To Katie’s dismay, the cosmos was not on her side today. Barely half an hour had passed when the bell over the entrance tinkled, announcing a visitor. Looking up from the clutter on her desk, Katie felt her face go pale. Sunlight poured across the broad shoulders of Taylor Grant, surrounding him with a golden waterfall of light that illuminated his taut features.

He walked with the languid grace of that cat Katie had imagined earlier. Her heart skipped a few beats in panic as she felt his intense perusal. Willing herself to remain perfectly still, she thrust out her chin belligerently. Fearlessly she met his gray eyes.

“You forgot this,” he said in silken tones, placing the book—her book—on the only clear space on her desk.

“What? Oh, yes, thank you, Mr. Grant.”

The silence grew as Katie watched him. Nervously, she crossed her arms, leaning back in the squeaky old office chair.

“Your friends are very protective of you, Katie.”

She shivered at the huskiness of his voice as he used her name for the first time. Her lips parted at the smile in his thawing gray eyes. A soothing warmth passed between them in the seconds that followed. Grant’s face lost some of its hardness, and she saw the exhaustion in it. But only for a split second. Then the unemotional mask was back.

“What do you mean, ‘protective’?”

“Mrs. Garvey wouldn’t tell me your last name—or where you worked.” He turned, taking in the clutter of the bookstore. It looked as if a cyclone had hit it. Stacks of books stood in miniature Towers of Pisa on the floor here and there, just begging to be shelved. Chaos reigned on every side. Huge Boston ferns hung from the low ceiling, their graceful green fronds arcing out in all directions. Several round tables were covered with blue-checked gingham cloths; tattered old chairs surrounded them. Bouquets of fresh white-petaled daisies and bright blue bachelor’s buttons stood in the center of each table. The bookstore was rectangular in shape, with the desk near the door. Soft music issued from hidden speakers, soothing Taylor’s taut nerves. In one corner stood a revolving rack, its compartments filled with dried herbs in plastic pouches. The books, he noticed with surprise, were randomly shelved; Katie apparently didn’t believe in order—alphabetical or otherwise. He scowled. This place was in dire need of organization. Then Taylor looked back at Katie, realizing the Unicorn Bookstore mirrored her personality: It was exotic, endearing, old-fashioned, warm and…He groped for another adjective to describe her.

“You own this place?” he asked brusquely, as he walked to a wall of shelves that held thousands of books.

“I do.”

Taylor smiled slightly, hearing the defensiveness in her low voice. “How old are you, Katie…?”

“Riordan, Mr. Grant. And I don’t believe my age is of any concern to you.”

He looked more closely at the books. Astrology, numerology, reincarnation, yoga, health food…He scowled darkly. Health food!
Rabbit food,
he thought tersely. But then, if Barry hadn’t conned him into going to that restaurant, he’d never have met this enigma of a woman—or found the story. And she was worth it. “Katie Riordan. Nice Irish name.”

“And I’ve got a temper to go with it, Mr. Grant. Now, what do you want?”

Taylor lifted his finger, running it across the tops of several books. Dust. This place needed a good feather duster and at least a week’s worth of loving attention. The purple carpeting was spotless, however, and Taylor saw no signs of poor housekeeping other than the dust and the general disorder. Her dark blue eyes clashed with his gray ones. “Is that a subtle threat, Katie Riordan?” he teased softly, his voice a cat’s purr.

She licked her lips nervously. “No, of course not! I just want to be left alone, Mr. Grant, that’s all. I want nothing to do with reporters.”

“Then don’t think of me as a reporter—just see me as a man.”

She watched a smile tug at his sensual mouth and saw a new warmth flood his icy gaze. Groaning inwardly, Katie felt a blush rushing to her already hot cheeks.
The nerve of the man!
He was deliberately teasing her, her intuition warned. A cat playing with a helpless mouse. And she was dinner. Her cobalt eyes flashed indignation. “Save your teasing for someone else, Mr. Grant. I’m not interested.”

“Are you married?”

“No, but—”

“Ah, you have a significant other.”

She shot up off the old chair, which squeaked shrilly in protest. “I’m not a quarry to be pursued! Just tell me why you’re here, and then leave!”

Taylor turned slowly to face her. In that blinding moment she took his breath away. She really did look like a gypsy from the pages of a travel brochure, black hair swirling around her shoulders, the peasant outfit hiding her slight but very provocative figure, hands curled into small fists at her sides. His smile broadened. “Why don’t you like reporters, Katie? Is it because you have something to hide?”

Her jaw went rigid, and her eyes flashed defiance. “Take your suspicions, Mr. Grant, and remove them—and yourself—from my store!”

Taylor wandered back to her. Carefully he monitored her expression. She had a fascinating face. It wasn’t beautiful in the sense that a model’s was, but it was unique. Each nuance of emotion flitted across her flushed features. He wondered what the texture of her flesh would be like and ached to reach out and brush a fiery cheek to find out. And those incredible eyes held mystery. He wanted to lean over and kiss each delicately framed lid, watch them open with desire. She was ethereal; that was the one word that described her. Would she disappear like mist on a summer’s morning? Flee like a frightened doe startled by a stalking hunter? Yes, she appeared defenseless!….

“Tell me,” he said. “Are you a fey spirit, or are you a fake?”

Katie blinked, and took a step away. “I’m not a fake. Don’t take that accusing tone with me.”

Taylor quickly masked his longing. This sorceress was indeed casting her spell on him. And she had done nothing but glare at him defiantly, with only a trace of fear in her wide, trusting eyes!

“There’s no need to be afraid of me,” he said, suddenly upset at the idea that she would fear him. He seldom lost his temper with a woman, though Mary Ann had goaded him often enough.

“I don’t fear you, only what you’ll put into print,” Katie said, her voice suddenly weary. Her mouth lost some of its tension, and she chewed on her lower lip. “And you’re going to write a story about me, aren’t you, Mr. Grant?”

Why the hell did he feel guilty for doing his job? “Look,” he said more roughly than he intended, “you did something to that man, and I want to know what it was.” He paused. “Do you really own this bookstore?” he asked, wanting to change the subject.

“Yes,” she answered, all her defiance dissolving.

Taylor cursed himself; she was making him feel like a first-class heel.

“What are all these odd volumes? They’re not the usual things you find in bookstores.”

Katie sat down in the chair, rubbing her temple where a headache was threatening to begin. “Would you be less suspicious if they were pornographic? I suppose so. You’re used to dealing with the misery of life—not its joy.”

Taylor gave her a guarded look. “How do you know what I’m used to?”

She shrugged tiredly. “You’ve spent a lot of time investigating crimes. I can feel it around you.” And then she lifted her head, meeting his incredulous gaze. “Or is the truth too unsettling? I should lie and say I read it somewhere, then you would have believed me.”

There was a lingering sadness in her tone. And she had hit on the truth, Taylor admitted grudgingly. He suddenly wanted to ask her a hundred more questions, but saw the fatigue in her eyes. Again he felt a twinge of guilt. “Do you always tell the truth?”

“Even if it hurts,” she said ruefully, a slight smile on her lips. But it was that same sad smile that tore at his carefully protected heart—and made him feel guilty.

“What did you do to that man?”

“I touched him.”

“Well, so did I, and he sure as hell didn’t stop gasping and choking when I did it.”

“You called for help. I came because you asked me to. Once someone has made a request of me, I’m bound by cosmic law to help. It’s as simple as that.”

He stared. “Lady, there’s nothing simple about you.”

Katie managed a patient smile. “Oh, I’m very simple, Mr, Grant. Transparent, so I’m told.”

“Then why are you evading my question?”

“I thought I answered it.”

“Then maybe I didn’t ask it clearly enough.”

Katie inclined her head. “You’re an intelligent man, Mr. Grant. I was hoping your heart would be in the right place, too.”

He bridled at her words. “I don’t get paid to listen to my heart, Ms. Riordan. Every time I allowed myself to get involved with the people I was investigating, I paid a huge emotional price. That’s unacceptable to me. So we’ll just leave my feelings out of this and get on with the reason I’m here.”

She flinched at the anger in his voice. It wasn’t out of fear, however. Katie felt his pain, and she closed her eyes, massaging her temples. She was annoying him, but she had to be discreet—something it was terribly hard for her to be.

“Very well, Mr. Grant.” Katie opened her eyes and focused on his pale countenance. The anger and pain she saw in his eyes made her want to cry for him. He must have gone through a private hell to be reacting this way. Getting up, she placed a teakettle on a hot plate. “Would you like some herb tea? I’m going to have some.”

Taylor shook his head, angry that she’d been able to intuit so much about him when after all, they were strangers. Katie unsettled him, unstrung him, left him off balance and wanting—Lord—wanting simply to grip her in his arms and hold her. Hold her, feel that warm, feminine body against his. Her warmth against the frigid cold inside him. She could thaw him, make him feel again, he realized.

“I’ve got a deadline to meet,” he said, forcing his mind to return to the subject at hand. “Now, either you tell me what you did or I’ll print this article without your help.”

Katie reached for a mug with a brightly painted rainbow on it and selected a tea bag from a box. “I’ll answer your questions,” she said quietly.

“Are you a witch?”

Katie gasped, whirling toward him. “A witch!” Her blue eyes grew furious. “Where did you get that idea?”

“Well, all these books on astrology—”

“Astrology is not witchcraft, Mr. Grant. Before you jump to conclusions, why don’t you look at the shelves? You’ll find nothing on witchcraft here—and you never will. Not so long as I’m the owner.”

“Then what kind of bookstore is this?”

“A New Age bookstore, that’s what!”

Taylor glared darkly at her. “Want to give me your definition of
New Age,
Ms. Riordan?”

The teakettle whistled shrilly, and Katie pulled it from the hot plate. Her hand trembled as she poured hot water into the cup; some splashed out onto the small counter. Muttering under her breath, Katie banged the teakettle back down and stooped to retrieve some paper towels. “
New Age
means “metaphysics.”
Meta,
Mr. Grant, means ‘beyond.’ And if you add
physics
you have ‘beyond physics.’” Her eyes were flashing dangerously, but she kept her voice down. “It is the study of the unseen, that which we cannot weigh or measure with our present technology, but which surely exists—just as you and I do. Consider it quantum physics landscape.”

He noticed that when she was angry, the color rushed into her cheeks and a display of fireworks flashed in her deep gaze. The ebony sheen of that glorious black mane made Taylor long to run his fingers through it. “Give me an example of metaphysics at work.”

She turned her back on him, drowning the tea bag viciously in the hot water. “You saw it in action today, Mr. Grant. Now leave,” she hissed. “Because you and I have no common ground on which to understand each other. You clearly know nothing of these topics. And I won’t tolerate your obvious contempt when you won’t make the slightest effort to understand the world I live in.”

He combed his fingers through his hair, trying to understand her. “You’re right. I don’t believe in any of that junk, seen or unseen. What counts, lady, is the real and very ugly world right outside that door.” He punched a finger in the direction of the street. “Hell, you could get robbed right here in the store.”

Katie faced him, the mug of tea cradled between her long, expressive fingers. The anger had vanished. Her eyes now held a mixture of sadness and understanding. “That won’t happen.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t ask for an explanation, Mr. Grant. You’d probably roll on the floor and die of laughter if I gave you one. Suffice it to say I’ve been running this bookstore for five years and I’ve encountered no criminals.”

Grant planted his hands on his hips, drawn to her despite himself. “If you don’t give me a clear and specific explanation of what you did to that cardiac victim, Ms. Riordan, I’m going to write the article from my perspective only.”

Katie tried to still her pounding heart. “You’ll write it the way you see it no matter what I say, Mr. Grant. Any explanation I gave you would be superfluous.” After a quiet moment during which she seemed to reconsider the situation, she threw him a pleading look. “Please don’t write the story. It’s not as significant as you make it out to be. The only important thing is that the man will live.”

“How do you know he will?”

“I know,” she answered stubbornly. “Why don’t you check with the hospital?”

“Oh, I intend to do just that, Ms. Riordan, as soon as I get some straight answers out of you.”

Her eyes rounded. “I’ve given you answers!” she said, her temper flaring.

“Politician’s answers. Answers that tell me nothing.”

He admired her spunk, her strength of spirit, despite the differences between them. “Well, I’m not known for printing evasions. I haven’t made a name for myself doing that.”

She sat down, glaring up at him. “Mr. Grant, you made up your mind hours ago about what happened in that restaurant. Nothing I could say would change your cynical opinions.”