Fated Hearts (5 page)

The drawer containing the forms her position required was the only organized element to her new workspace. Hopefully there was an inventory list in the drawer that would give her an idea of what “fully stocked” meant for this office. Otherwise, the planned supply check would prove a worthless use of her time.

“Be careful with Doug. He’s a sweet guy.”

“Seriously?” Henley’s gaze snapped up to where Carter shuffled through a ream of papers on his desk. She couldn’t decide which pissed her off more: the fact he felt she needed to be warned off his deputy or that he wasn’t bothering to make eye contact with her while he did it.

“I’m not trying to insult you, Miss Elliott. Clearly he’s attracted to you and clumsy with it. I’m asking you to take care with him. What you see as being kind, he may see as reciprocated interest. And when it comes time to let him down, which I’m sure you’ll do with grace and tact, he still may feel the sting of rejection sharper than you’d intended. You’ll both be embarrassed, at least. It’s a situation that could create a tense working environment for all of us. But mostly I’m worried about Doug.”

“And if I am attracted to him?”

He looked up from the papers he held. His eyes were incredibly blue, the shade of the sky she’d admired on her hike into town days earlier, and his direct stare captivated her. She couldn’t look away.

“That’s your business, and I’ll ask both of you to keep that business out of this office. But you’re no more attracted to him than I’m going to get drafted to play quarterback for the Philadelphia Eagles next season.”

“Is that right?”

“That’s right.”

“I don’t like you.”

“I’m not sure I like you either. But you were amused by Doug—flattered, sure, but mostly amused. You think he is a sweet kid. Nothing more, nothing less.” Carter returned to his reading. “You can barely have a conversation with me, don’t enjoy being in the same room with me, for that matter, and have yet to invite me to use your first name. And I think I’d have a better shot than Doug does.”

“You arrogant prick.” Henley gripped the edge of her desk with such force her fingertips were white. It took every ounce of self-control she possessed not to stand. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if she did. She’d never been violent in her life. But a piece of her wanted to rail at this man who was nearly a stranger. Instinct demanded she pound her fists into his chest and scream; the idea of it flashed into her mind, and something inside her clicked. She felt warm and whole, and that terrified her. She wanted to run from Trappers’ Cove as fast as her feet would carry her. She must have stood, because the room appeared to tilt, and she felt Carter at her side.

“Sit down, Henley. Sit down. Jesus, you’re pale.” He hadn’t touched her; at least he hadn’t touched her. The memory of what she’d felt vibrating through her when their hands had clasped had reverberated within her for days. Her equilibrium had only begun to return to normal. Carter disappeared from her side, striding into the kitchen that acted as a break room. Henley lowered her forehead to the desk’s surface, breathing deeply, exhaling slowly through her nose. She heard a clunk on the wood and lifted her head a few inches. He had brought her a glass of water. She sat all the way up and took a long sip.

“Thank you, Sheriff.”

“Carter. Call me Carter.” He stood about a foot from her chair, studying her. “What happened? You looked ready to clobber me. But the expression on your face changed to one I can only describe as terrified. Your complexion went waxy before you stood and swooned. I thought you might faint.”

“You just explained what happened.”

“Yeah. That’s what happened. I already know why you were pissed. But you want to tell me what scared you so badly you almost fell out face first on the floor?”

“I’d rather not.” Henley sighed. Her first day. She’d made a fool of herself on her first day.

“Okay. You want to explain what happened when we shook hands? I wasn’t sure what to do for you, if catching you would make whatever worse or not. Honest to God, Henley, the notion of having to let you drop to the floor and leave you there because I might hurt you more if I touched you bothers me. I’d appreciate an explanation.”

“I don’t have a good one.”

“Whatever you’ve got is fine.”

“We’ll see about that.” No one had understood or believed her. He wouldn’t either. She’d be labeled crazy. And fired. People would stare and whisper. Eventually, she’d begin to believe she was insane. It had happened before.

• • •

He’d lied. He did like her—more than a little. He’d anticipated Monday morning. It was more than curiosity over what had transpired on the street at their last meeting. So it had goaded him to witness Henley conversing easily with Doug while the young deputy blushed. However, it took only a moment to grasp the truth in that situation. The air in the room had fairly crackled when he called her on it. Carter had been enjoying the verbal sparring.

But whatever that episode was, it scared him. He’d checked his hands when he’d gone to get water and was surprised but pleased to find he wasn’t shaking. He’d thought he was. It felt all of him was. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen terror. Justin’s eyes, for instance … Carter swallowed hard, willing the image away. The guilt that filled him would linger, but it was better than the grief the ghost carried. The room stank of fear and guilt.

“Henley? I can wait all day, but I’d rather not.”

“I see you’ve helped yourself to my first name.” She took a healthy sip of water, and he nearly praised her but held his tongue.

“Should I apologize, Miss Elliott?”

“No.” She plunked the glass down with a dull thud and gathered her hair back into a ponytail, which she secured with a band she had wrapped around her wrist. “Sorry. I’m mad at myself for being a fool and on my first day at that. Please do call me Henley, Carter.”

She smiled, and he wanted to back away with his hands held out in warning. He’d told himself to keep his distance, and here he yearned to get closer. He was broken. He had no place getting close to anyone, least of all a woman he suspected may be more screwed up than he was. He remembered television reruns his parents watched when he was a child where a weird robot character would chant “Danger! Danger!” Yet he grabbed the chair beside her desk, turned and straddled it in one smooth motion, and smiled in what he hoped she would interpret as an encouraging manner.

“Where the hell do I start?”

“I find the beginning to be a good spot.” Carter winked.

“Good, you have a sense of humor.” She took another sip. “When I was in my early twenties, I received a traumatic head injury. I was comatose for about three months. When I woke up, I had a new … sense. It’s a form of empathy based on touch, skin-to-skin contact.”

“You’re saying, what? That you pick up the emotions of anyone with whom you come into contact?”

“Yes, but it’s more than sensing what they’re feeling. I feel it as though they’re my emotions, too. If a man is angry because his wife cheated on him and my arm touches his, I’ll share his anger. I’ll be angry. If he’s planning on killing her, I’ll feel as though I want to kill too. I don’t get thoughts or memories—I won’t know who I want to kill or why—but for that split second I’ll be consumed with an overwhelming, violent rage. Once the contact ends, my feelings return to my own again.” She drained the rest of the water. “Most contact is bearable. But there have been a few I’ve connected with strongly. And it’s as though their souls are screaming. That’s the worst because the effect lingers like a hangover.”

“And last week?”

“You’re a screamer, Sheriff.”

“I have never been called that.” Carter laughed. “Sweet baby Jesus, Henley. Assume, for the moment, I believe all this. You go around zapping people and sucking up their emotions?”

“Zapping people?”

“I felt a tingling. It started in my fingertips as soon as our hands touched, sizzled through my hand, and crept up my arm. It wasn’t what I would call pleasant, but it didn’t hurt, either.”

“You felt it? That’s new, as far as I know. Maybe you’re like me? Maybe you felt me?” She stared. She had lovely, expressive eyes. Carter easily read the surprise and the glimmer of hope framed there. Regret kicked him.

“I’ve only ever felt my own emotions, Henley. I’m sorry.” Carter couldn’t imagine living in a world where he was afraid to touch others or forced to feel their sadness, grief, or anger, if only for a moment. Sure, you could share happiness, but how many people walked around happy these days? Actually, he didn’t think any of what she said was true, but she believed it. He could tell from her eyes and the conviction in her voice. Henley Elliott probably was mad as a hatter, but damned if he didn’t want to kiss her. “What scared you just now?”

“How much I wanted to punch you. I’ve never hit anyone in my life. Yet I saw myself doing that, and it felt good. What if all the negativity I’ve absorbed has started to stick?” She turned eyes as wide as saucers toward him, and the urge to protect warred with the tickle of lust. “I wanted to run away.”

“From me?” he asked.

“From the Cove. I haven’t felt right since I got here.”

“What would happen if I kissed you?”

He hadn’t intended to ask her that. But as she’d explained her “condition,” he’d wondered, as he told himself most men would, about the intimate consequences.

The expression on her face would’ve been insulting if he hadn’t found it comical. He’d had no shortage of girls looking for a kiss since kindergarten—first a kiss on the cheek and by high school … Well, high school was fun. He grinned at his past self’s exploits. But Henley was clearly appalled and confused by the idea. She looked like he’d just suggested they kill someone for the hell of it. Damn, if that didn’t make him more curious.

“Why would you do that?”

“We could call it an experiment.” He inched the chair closer and thanked Teague—mister or missus—for buying office furniture on coasters. “You’re a doctor; you should appreciate the scientific methodology.”

He watched her pull her emotional shutters closed and cursed his big mouth. Her back lengthened as she straightened and rounded her shoulders. The schooled, empty expression returned.

“You investigated me?”

He could tell her that Maggie had let that little nugget slip. But that would likely damage the only friendship Henley had made as far as he knew. And truth was they had done a standard screen. He nodded.

“What else did you find?”

“Not much. You’re a medical doctor licensed to practice psychology in Ohio, which matches the legal address you gave us on your employment application, driver’s license, and vehicle registration. You have no wants or warrants. And an excellent credit rating. Standard background check for employment, Henley. The county ran a much more intrusive one on me, and I’d won the election. And on Doug, who has lived here since birth.”

“Right. Right. I expected that.” She picked up and sat down the empty glass. What else did she have to hide other than allegedly having a voodoo whammy?

“What else is there to find?”

“Pardon me?”

“You asked what else we found—what else is there?”

“Nothing.” She knocked the glass over with a fluttering hand.

“Uh-huh. Sure.” He fought the urge to smile, figuring she wouldn’t appreciate it, and righted the empty cup. “Do yourself a favor and don’t ever play poker with Mags; you’re a rotten liar.”

“I’ve already been warned about the poker thing, thanks.”

“You’re welcome. What are you hiding, Henley?” She shook her head. “Or is ‘from whom are you hiding?’ a better question?”

The phone rang, and he didn’t need empathic abilities to sense her relief. The telephone was an old, heavy version with a curly cord, attached to a more modern switchboard/answering machine that would pick up if she didn’t get it soon.

“Go ahead and answer it; we’ll get back to this.” He stood as she lifted the receiver.

“I’m not fired?”

“What for?”

“Being a basket case.”

“Did I say you were crazy?”

“Your eyes did.”

“If being crazy was a deterrent, they wouldn’t have given me a job, Doc. And mine comes with a gun. Answer the phone. If the machine does, the rumor mill may decide we’ve closed our doors, and we’ll both be outta work.”

“Sheriff’s department. How can I help you?”

Would she let him help her if he tried?

“Bye, Mom. Give my love to Dad and Michelle.” Henley hung up and stretched her back. It had been a pleasant call. That wasn’t usual. It had to do with the fact that she had called from the same location she’d been the last time they spoke. This was a first for her since she’d left Cleveland two years ago. She’d expected that a month in Trappers’ Cove would have given her itchy feet by now, but she was good. Better than good. She was comfortable. And she wasn’t anxious about being comfortable.

Henley grinned at herself and laid her head on the back of the thick wooden chair where she lounged. She was surprised at how much she loved the woods. The serenity here was palpable. The solitude wasn’t anything to sneeze at either; she had company when she wanted to be near people. And she liked her job.

As for Carter, he saw too much, and he wanted to know more. Although he hadn’t pressed her since her first day and he hadn’t mentioned her episode or the confession that had followed it, he was careful not to touch her. He managed it without being obvious or rude. She appreciated the thoughtfulness, though she knew he didn’t believe her. How could he? She’d catch him staring with those bright, intelligent blue eyes. Her instinct was to squirm under the weight of his questioning stare. It had been a long time since anyone had made Henley want to squirm with only a look.

The cabin had become a sanctuary she enjoyed retreating to at the end of each workday. Though it was May and the days grew warmer, it was cool under the canopy of trees. She could see a small stream from the eastern windows. She often watched small animals drinking or bathing in the chilly water. The gentle trickle of the water washing over rocks lulled her to sleep at night. Cleveland’s suburbs had been the most rural environment she’d enjoyed as a child, and she had considered herself an urbanite. But the peace of spirit she’d known these last five weeks in Trappers’ Cove made her reconsider her sense of self.