Can she find the courage to love all over again?

Hunter Smith likes to keep out of messy situations; life is just easier if you don’t get emotionally involved. He’s never been a knight in shining armor before—but when he sees Abby Gray in trouble, he can’t stop himself from stepping in...

Trying to put the scars of the past behind her, Abby has decided to make a fresh start. Hunter’s offer of making her his new assistant could be a step in just the right direction. But is she ready to believe that happy-ever-afters can happen in real life—not just in fairy tales?

Soft fingers touched his cheek. Hunter felt their touch all the way to his toes. It was like velvet against sandpaper.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?” He was distracted by the hand warming his skin.

“For trusting me. For not assuming I’ll mess it up.”

Never had someone’s words hit him so hard. Her words gave birth to a sensation like nothing Hunter had ever felt before. A primal sensation that rose from somewhere deep inside him, filling his chest and fueling his protectiveness.

Just like on that afternoon at the castle, everything disappeared from view but Abby’s face. He felt as if he was falling, and grabbed the edge of the counter to stay balanced. His eyes dropped to her mouth. He wanted to kiss her again.

Dear Reader,

I love all my characters. Every once in a while, however, a character pops into my head whom I feel very protective of. Abby Gray is one of those characters. It was very important to me that she get not just a happy ending but the right happy ending—with the right man. Believe it or not, several auditioned for the role before Hunter Smith came along.

When Abby first sprang to life, I found myself with a spunky but downtrodden young woman just out of a horrendous relationship. I wanted to show how even smart women can get sucked into a spiral of insecurity and abuse. Getting out of that spiral isn’t easy.

Fortunately Abby has Hunter to help her. Unfortunately Hunter has a few issues of his own when it comes to connecting with people. He’d much rather keep them at a distance to prevent himself from getting hurt. But, as happens with true heroes, Abby forces him to embrace his inner white knight. Before he knows what’s happening, this sideline guy is involved in Abby’s world and losing his heart!

Underneath all the romance there is an important lesson. That it’s not enough simply to find a man who treats you right, but you must find yourself, as well. It’s the lesson Abby needs to learn to get her happy ending. I hope as you’re reading about Abby and Hunter’s journey the lesson resonates with you, as well.

Thanks, as always, for reading my stories. I love writing them, and hope to entertain you for many more stories to come.

Best,

Barbara

The Courage To Say Yes

Barbara Wallace

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Award-winning author BARBARA WALLACE first sold to Mills & Boon in 2009. Since then her books have appeared throughout the world. She’s the winner of RWA’s Golden Heart Award, a two-time RT Book Reviews finalist for Best Harlequin Romance, and winner of the New England Beanpot Award.

She currently lives in Massachusetts with her family. Readers can visit her at www.barbarawallace.com and find her on Facebook. She’d love to hear from you.

To my boys Peter and Andrew—you are the best. Thank you for your patience, your support, and your sacrifice.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE

“HEY, WHERE DO you think you’re going?”

Pudgy fingers gripped Abby’s wrist. She froze, hating herself for her reaction. “Let go of me, Warren,” she said.

Her ex-boyfriend shook his head. “I’m not done talking to you.”

Maybe not, but Abby was done listening. “There’s nothing more to talk about.” At least nothing she hadn’t heard a dozen or three times before.

She tried to yank her arm free, but Warren held fast. “Since when do you tell me what to do?”

His fingers dug into the top of her wrist. He was going to leave a mark, dammit. “Warren, please.” The plea slipped out from habit. “The customers...”

“Screw the customers.” A couple heads turned in their direction. Abby didn’t dare look to see if Guy, her boss, had heard, too.

“This is your fault, you know?” Warren told her. “I wouldn’t have to come down to this—” he curled his upper lip “—this diner if you weren’t being so childish.”

As if his pouting and tantrums were the height of maturity. Abby knew better than to say anything. Hard to believe she’d once considered this man the answer to life’s problems. Now he was the problem. One hundred ninety-five pounds of unshakable anger. Why couldn’t he let her go? It’d been six weeks.

When it comes to us, I make the decisions, babe. Not you. That’s what he always said.

How on earth was she going to get loose this time?

“Hey, Abby.”

The sound of her name cut through the breakfast din, and made her pulse kick up yet another notch. Abby knew the speaker immediately. The photographer. She’d been waiting on him for the past dozen days. Always sat at the back corner table and read the paper, his expensive camera resting on the chair next to him. Quiet, hassle-free. Good tipper. Hunter something or other. Abby hadn’t paid close attention. Whatever his last name, he was heading toward them, weaving his way through the tables with a graceful precision. Warren was not going to like the interruption.

“You want something?” he asked, before she could.

“I could use some more coffee.” Hunter directed his answer to her as though her ex had never spoken. “That is, if you can pull yourself away from your conversation.”

“Um...” She looked to Warren, gauging his reaction. After six years, she’d become an expert on reading his facial expressions. The telltale darkening of his eyes wasn’t good. On the other hand, she knew he preferred discretion, choosing to do his bullying in private.

“You heard the man. He needs fresh coffee,” Warren replied. “You don’t want to keep your customers waiting.”

Leaning forward, he placed a kiss on her cheek, a marking of territory, as much for her benefit as Hunter’s. Abby had to fight the urge to wipe the feel of his mouth from her skin. “I’ll see you later, babe.”

His promise made her stomach churn.

“Nice guy,” Hunter drawled from behind her shoulder.

“Yeah, he’s a real peach.”

She rubbed her aching wrist. What made her think she could walk away, and Warren wouldn’t try to track her down? Just because he told her repeatedly that she was a worthless piece of trash didn’t mean he was ready to give her up. As far as he was concerned, she was his property.

Warren’s car pulled away from the curb. He was gone, but not for good. He’d be back. Later today. Tomorrow. A week from tomorrow. Ready to beg, scream, and try to drag her back home.

Oh, God, what if she wasn’t in a public place when he returned? Or if he decided to do more than beg and scream? There were all sorts of stories in the news....

Her breakfast started to rise in her throat. She grabbed the chair in front of her.

“You okay?” she heard Hunter ask.

“F-fine.” For the millionth time in six weeks, she pushed her nerves aside. Worrying would only mean Warren still had control. “I’m fine,” she repeated. “I’ll go get your coffee.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied. “I’m good.”

“But you said...” She stopped as the meaning of what he’d done dawned on her. He’d interrupted on purpose.

“You’re welcome.” Hunter turned and headed for his usual table.

Abby didn’t know what to say. She should be grateful. After all, he’d just bailed her out of what could have become a very difficult situation. In all her years with Warren, no one had ever stepped up to help her before. On the other hand, she hadn’t asked for his help. He’d just assumed she needed it, as though she were a helpless little victim.

Aren’t you?

No. Not anymore. Despite what the situation looked like.

Oh, but she could just imagine what someone like the photographer thought, too. Her hand still shaking with nerves, she ran it through her hair before looking over at the back table. There sat Hunter, sipping the coffee he didn’t need refilling. With his faded field jacket and his aviator sunglasses perched atop his thick brown hair, he looked exactly the way you’d picture a photographer. If you were casting a movie, that is. One where the daredevil photojournalist dodged bullets to get the shot. To be honest, his whole outfit—worn jeans, worn henley—would seem silly on anyone who didn’t look like a movie star.

It didn’t look silly on the Hunter. He had the cheekbones and complexion to rival any actor in New York City. Might as well throw Los Angeles in there as well, Abby decided. The build, too. Whereas Warren was soft and doughy, Hunter was hard, his body defined by angles and contours. Small wonder Warren had backed off. Her ex might be a bully, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew when he was outclassed.

Too bad she couldn’t get Warren to back off so easily.

“Abby, order up!” Guy stuck his craggy head out of the order window and slapped the bell. “Get your butt in gear. You want to stand around, you can go find a street corner.”

As if this job was much better. She moved behind the counter to pick up the two plates of scrambled eggs and bacon Guy had shoved onto the shelf. “What about the home fries?”

Guy slapped a bowl of fried potatoes in front of her. “Next time, write it on the slip. And while you’re at it, tell your boyfriend if he wants to visit, he can order like everyone else. I’m not paying you to stand around talking.”

“He’s not my— Never mind.” She grabbed the potatoes, wincing a little at the pressure the extra plate put on her sore wrist. No sense arguing a losing point.

“Ignore him.” Ellen, one of her fellow waitresses, said as she walked by. “He’s like a bear with a sore head this morning.”

What about the other mornings? “No change there then.” Abby went to serve her customers before Guy blew another gasket. Miserable as her boss might be, he was the only employer who’d been willing to hire an inexperienced waitress. Life with Warren hadn’t left her with too many marketable skills, unless you counted walking on eggshells and knowing how to read bad moods. This job was the only thing keeping her from complete destitution. Without it, she might actually end up standing on a street corner.

Halfway through her rounds topping up customers’ cups with fresh coffee, Abby felt the hair on the back of her neck began to rise. Someone was watching her. With more than the usual “trying to get the waitress’s attention” stare. Automatically, her head whipped to the front door. Empty.

She didn’t like being studied. In her experience, scrutiny led to one of three things: correction, punishment or a lecture. With a frown, she looked around the room until her eyes reached the back table where Hunter was sat. Sure enough, his attention was focused directly at her.

For the first time since she’d begun waiting on him, she took notice of his eyes. A weird hybrid of blue and gray, they looked almost like steel under the diner’s fluorescent lighting. She’d never seen eyes that color. Nor had she been looked at with such... Approval wasn’t the right word. It definitely wasn’t the disapproval she was used to, either. She didn’t know what to call it. Whatever the name, it caused a somersault sensation in the pit of her stomach.

Finally noticing he had her attention, Hunter nodded and held up his bill.

Abby’s cheeks grew hot. Of course. Why else would he be looking for her other than to settle his bill? Warren’s visit had her brain turned backward. After all, it wasn’t as if she was the kind of woman who turned heads on a good day, let alone today. Her face was flushed and sweaty. And her hair? She’d given up trying with her hair hours ago.

She made a point of approaching his table on the fly, figuring she could grab his credit card and sweep on past, so as to avoid any awkward conversation. Considering his intervention earlier, she doubted there could be any other kind.

Unfortunately, as soon as she reached for the plastic, his grip on the card tightened.

“Is there a problem?” she asked when he wouldn’t let go.

“You tell me.” His eyes dropped to her wrist. To the bluish-red spots marked where Warren’s fingers had been.

Dammit. She’d hoped there wouldn’t be any evidence. Letting go of the credit card, Abby pulled the cuff of her sleeve down to her knuckles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Do all your knishes look like eggs over easy?”

“What?” His question made no sense.

“The bill says I ordered blueberry knishes and rye toast.”

“Sorry. I gave you the bill from two tables over by mistake.”

“Again.”

“Again,” Abby repeated. That’s right; she’d made the same mistake with him yesterday. She wondered if she’d messed up any other tables. Guy would kill her if she did. Again.

“Happens when you’re distracted.”

“Or busy,” Abby countered, refusing to take the bait. She was trying to put Warren out of her head, and while she wasn’t having much luck, talking about him wouldn’t help.

Taking her order pad from her pocket, she flipped the pages. “Here’s yours,” she said, tearing out a new page. “Eggs over easy, bacon and whole-wheat toast. Same as every day. You want me to ring you up?” The sooner he settled his bill, the sooner he’d leave. Maybe then she could pretend the morning hadn’t happened.

“Please.”

Hunter noticed that this time when she reached for the card, she snatched it with her right hand, keeping her left still tucked inside her sweater. How hard did you have to squeeze someone’s wrist to leave a bruise, anyway? Pretty damn hard, he imagined. A man had to have some serious anger issues to grab a woman that tightly.

Sipping the last of his cold coffee, he watched Abby ring up his bill, the sleeve of her sweater stretched almost to her fingertips. A poor attempt at hiding the evidence.

He’d known the minute the guy walked in that he was a first-class jerk. The overly expensive leather jacket and hair plugs screamed needy self-importance. It took him by surprise, though, when the jerk approached Abby. If anyone could be considered jerkdom’s polar opposite, it was his waitress. Since his return stateside, Hunter had spent his meals at Guy’s trying to figure out what it was that had him sitting in the same section day after day. Certainly wasn’t the service, since Abby messed up his order on a regular basis.

Her looks? With her overly lean frame and angular features she wasn’t what you’d call conventionally pretty. She was, however, eye-catching. Her butterscotch-colored topknot had a mind of its own, always flopping in one direction or another, with more and more strands working their way loose as the day progressed. The color reminded him of Sicilian beaches, warm and golden. Luckily, Guy was lax about health-code regulations. Be a shame to cover such a gorgeous color with an ugly hairnet.

She had fascinating eyes, too. Big brown eyes the size of dinner plates.

The bell over the front door rang. Hunter watched as she stiffened and cast a nervous look toward the entrance. Worried the jerk would return? Or that he wouldn’t? Could be either. For all Hunter knew, his butterscotch-haired waitress had a big old dark side and liked being manhandled. Nothing surprised him anymore.

Well, almost nothing. He’d managed to surprise himself this morning. Since when did he step into other people’s business?

A soft cough broke his thoughts. Looking up, he saw Abby standing there, coffeepot in her grip. Her right hand again. “Wrist sore?” he couldn’t help asking.

“No.” The answer came fast and defensively. “Why would it be?”

How about because she’d had the daylights squeezed out of it? “No reason.”

If she wasn’t interested in sharing, so be it. Wasn’t his business, anyway. “Can I have a pen? For the receipt.”

Her cheeks pinked slightly as she handed him the one from her pocket. Hunter scribbled his name and began gathering his belongings.

“Thank you.” The words reached him as he was hanging his camera strap around his neck. Spoken softly and with her back turned, they could have been for the thirty percent tip. Or not. He saved them both the embarrassment of responding.

* * *

Distracted didn’t begin to cover Abby’s mental state for the rest of the day. She spent her entire shift expecting Warren to tap her on the shoulder. By the time she finished work, she’d managed to mess up four more orders. Not all the customers were as forgiving as Hunter, either. Guy was ready to run her out the door.

“Make sure your head’s on straight tomorrow,” he groused when she clocked out.

She wanted to tell him that if her head had ever been on straight, she wouldn’t be working in a greasy spoon and dodging her ex. Common sense kept her mouth shut. No need to make a bad situation worse by adding unemployment to the mix.

To her great relief, she stepped out to an empty street to wait for her taxi. Thank goodness. How she hated being back to looking over her shoulder. After six weeks, she’d foolishly begun thinking her life might actually be her own again. Granted, it wasn’t the best of lives, but it was hers. Or rather, she’d thought so until Warren tracked her down. You’d think he’d be glad to be rid of her. Wasn’t he forever telling her how she made his life so difficult?

Letting out a breath, she leaned against the railing in front of Guy’s storefront. She hated taking a taxicab, too. Spending money earmarked for savings. It wasn’t that she was so afraid of Warren. Sure, he’d gotten physical a few times—more than a few times—but she could handle him.

Liar. Why are you taking a cab then? Just a few hours ago, she’d worried today might the day he’d go over the edge.

Breaking up with Warren was supposed to be her new beginning. The end of walking on eggshells. Now she was stuck either leaving the one lousy job she could find, or praying that Warren had lost interest now that he’d tracked her down.

Angry tears rimmed her eyes. She sniffed them back. Warren wasn’t going to win. She wouldn’t let him.

Just then, movement caught the corner of her eye and she stiffened, hating herself even as she gripped the iron railing. Slowly, she pulled her thoughts back to her surroundings.

It was the photographer, coming down the street, camera slung around his neck. His sunglasses had migrated to his eyes, hiding their unique color. Didn’t matter. He was still looking in her direction, his attention causing her stomach to quiver with unwanted awareness.

“Everything okay?” he asked as her taxi pulled up.

For crying out loud, couldn’t a woman buy a moment of privacy? As it was, he already knew more of her business than necessary.

She slid into the backseat without answering.

* * *

Hunter spent the next day shooting landmarks around the city, updating his portfolio of stock photos. By this point he had more than enough shots for his files, but the project kept him busy. Downtime and he weren’t good friends. Too much time off the job and he got antsy, a trait he’d inherited from his father. Inherited, or learned from watching. Either way, he hated being between jobs same as his father did. Only difference was Hunter didn’t have a teenage son in tow.

It was midafternoon when he returned to his apartment building. One of the things he liked about this particular piece of real estate was that his street was basically an alleyway, meaning it had less crowds and traffic than other parts of the city. This time of day, the traffic was particularly slow. Guy’s had closed, and rush hour had yet to begin.

As he rounded the corner, a familiar flash of butterscotch caught his eye. It was Abby, her angular frame bundled by a woolen coat. She was leaning against the diner’s stair rail, her face and attention a thousand miles away. Her topknot, he noticed, had transformed itself. What was left of the mass had fallen to the nape of her neck, while most of the strands had worked loose and were framing her face.

Hunter felt a stirring deep in his gut, the sensation he got whenever he found a special shot. In Abby’s case, the special element came from her posture. While she looked as exhausted as you’d expect a woman who’d spent eight hours on her feet would do, her shoulders and spine were ramrod straight. Pushing back against the weight of the world. Before she could notice his presence, he raised his camera and clicked off a half dozen frames. He managed to snap the last one as she turned, zooming in until her face filled the entire frame. That’s when he saw the unshed tears that turned her eyes into shining brown mirrors. Hunter wondered if later, when he uploaded the shot, he’d see himself reflected in them.

He clicked one last photo and lowered the camera. Perfect timing, because she suddenly gripped the railing. She was still on edge from this morning, he realized. The reaction bothered him. He wasn’t used to women growing rigid in his presence.

“Everything all right?” he asked, just as a taxicab pulled up alongside her.

He didn’t expect an answer, and he wasn’t disappointed. She slipped into the backseat without a word.

There was a padded shipping envelope propped atop his mailbox when Hunter finally entered his building—an advanced copy of a travel guide he’d shot earlier in the year. New Zealand, New Guinea; one of those places. He tossed the envelope, unopened, on his sofa. It landed with a puff of air, sending stray papers and a Chinese take-out menu sailing. Place had gone to pot since his assistant, Christina, had left to make her mediocre mark on the photography world. Not that she’d kept the place in great shape to begin with. She’d been far more interested in taking her photos than assisting him—a less than stellar characteristic in a photographer’s assistant. At some point, he supposed, he should hire someone new and put this mess back in order. Unfortunately, like his last assistant, he was more interested in taking photos than in finding her replacement.

He thought about the pictures of Abby he’d just shot. He was eager to see how they’d turn out. If those eyes of hers were as riveting on paper as he suspected. When it came to photography, his instincts were rarely wrong. Then again, he’d learned through the lens of a master.

“No amount of raw talent can replace the perfect image,” his father used to tell him. Joseph Smith had spent his life chasing the perfect photograph. Hell, he gave his life for the perfect shot. The rest of the world had to fall in line behind his work. A philosophy his son had learned the hard way how to embrace.

Sometimes, though, great images fell into your lap. Moving a pile of research books, he fired up the computer that doubled as his digital darkroom—one difference between his father’s brand of photography and his. Modern technology made the job faster and easier. No makeshift darkrooms set up in hotels. All Hunter needed was a laptop and a memory card.

Though he had to admit that, every once in a while, he missed the old way. There was a familiarity to the smell of chemicals. As a teenager, he’d come to think of the smells as the one constant amid continual change. There were nights when he still walked into hotel rooms expecting the aroma to greet him.

Maybe he should install a darkroom in the building. Might make the place feel less like a way station.

Then again, building a darkroom was a lot like hiring an assistant. Nice in theory, but not as important as the photos themselves. Besides, nothing would make this apartment feel less like a way station because that’s what it was. A place to sleep between assignments. No better than a hotel room, in reality. Less so, seeing how he actually spent more time in hotel rooms than his apartment.

Thumbnail images lined his computer screen. He’d shot more than he realized, a luxury of digital photography. He scrolled down until he found the series he’d taken of Abby. Sure enough, her face loomed from the screen like a silent-movie actress. The emotions bearing down on her reached out beyond the flat surface. He could feel the weariness. The grit, too. Hunter could see the glint of steely resolve lurking in the depths of her big, sad eyes.

To his surprise, he felt the stirring of arousal. A testimony to the quality of the shot. Good photos should evoke physical responses.

Of course, he didn’t usually respond to his own work. He knew better than to get emotionally involved anymore. Start caring about the subject, and you set yourself up for problems. Images were illusory. The world on the other side of the lens wasn’t as welcoming as photos made it appear. On the other side of the camera was pain, disinterest, loneliness, death.

Better to stay at a distance, heart safely tucked away where the world couldn’t cause any damage. Of all the photography lessons his father had taught him, distance was the most important. Of course, at the time, he’d been too young to appreciate it, but eventually life had helped him to not just understand, but embrace the philosophy.

Yet for some reason, Hunter found himself being drawn in by a simple photo of a waitress. Seduced by the emotion he saw lurking in her eyes. So much simmering beneath the surface...

Only for a moment, though. He blinked and the distance he prided himself on returned. He was once again the observer, and Abby’s face merely another photograph. An intriguing, but ultimately meaningless, two-dimensional moment in time.

CHAPTER TWO

TO MOST NEW YORK residents, McKenzie House was nothing more than an inconspicuous brick row house with a faded green door. To the women inside, however, the house represented far more than an address. The run-down rooms meant a fresh start without abuse or domination. Abby was well aware that her story was mild in comparison to her roommates’, but she was no less grateful. The gratitude rose in her chest once more as she fell back on the living area sofa. She was soon joined by Carmella, one of her fellow residents. “You look dead. Long day?”

“The longest. Warren showed up.”

“What?” Carmella sat up like a shot. “He tracked you down? How?”

“I don’t...”

Wait. Yes, she did. Oh, all the stupid...

“What?” Carmella asked.

“My mother. I called and gave her the diner’s phone number in case of an emergency.”

Abby grabbed her phone from her bag and punched the speed dial. Two rings and a harried female voice answered.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Abby, um, hi! What a surprise.” Joanne Gray sounded like she always did, as though looking over her shoulder. Which she probably was. “I can’t really talk right now. I’m getting ready to put dinner on the table.”

Abby checked her watch. By her calculations there was still ten minutes before the assigned dinnertime. “I’ll only take a second, I promise. I was wondering if anyone’s called the house looking for me.”

“No one except your boyfriend, that is. He lost your new work number, and figured I knew it.”

Mystery solved. “Mom, I told you Warren and I broke up.”

Same way she had when Abby told her about the breakup, her mother disregarded the comment. “Warren explained how that was all a big misunderstanding.”

“No. It was a breakup. I moved out of the apartment. Remember, I explained to you?” Along with the rest of the sordid story.

“I know what you said, honey, but I figured you’d changed your mind. Warren was so polite on the phone. And he’s doing so well. You’re lucky to have a man like that interested in taking you back.”

Because that’s what mattered. In Joanne Gray’s eyes, a lousy man was better than no man at all. Didn’t matter how miserable or mistreating—

“Joanne!” Abby’s stepfather’s bellow came through so loud she had to jerk the receiver from her ear. “What are you doing, talking on the phone?”

“I’m sorry,” she heard her mother reply. “It’s Abby. She had a question.”

“She should know better than to call when it’s dinnertime. Hang up. I’m hungry!”

There was some shuffling and her mother’s voice came back online, a little more ragged than before. “I have to go, honey.”

“Sure, Mom. I’ll call soon.”

Whether her mother heard the promise or not, Abby didn’t know. She’d hung up, leaving her daughter on the line, with a headache and a sense of defeat. Some things weren’t ever going to change. Not her mother. Not the way her mom viewed life.

“I was right,” Abby said, letting the phone drop in her lap. “Warren called her.”

Talk about ironic. When they lived together, Warren had no use for her parents. Called them useless white trash. He’d spoken to her parents no more than three times at most.

But of course, her mother would cave with the phone number. Warren, salesman that he was, would hardly break a sweat sweet-talking her.

Abby rubbed her suddenly aching head. “I honestly thought that, after six weeks, he’d move on.”

“Well, some guys just don’t like to give up what they think is theirs.”

Carmella should know. Her ex had torched their apartment during a fight. Thankfully, Warren never did more than twist Abby’s arm or deliver a swift backhand.

The silver bracelets lining Carmella’s arm shimmered against her dark skin as she pulled back the curtain covering the window. “Any chance he followed you?”

“No. He, um...left.” Aided by a field jacket and aviator sunglasses. “Hopefully, he got the message and won’t be back.”

“Yeah, right. And I’m gonna be on the cover of Vogue next week. You’re kidding yourself if you think he’s giving up now that he’s tracked you down.”

That’s what she was afraid of, Abby thought, rubbing her wrist. The marks had blossomed to full-blown bruises. Annoyance and shame rose in her throat. She was mad. Mad at Warren. Mad at her mother.

Most of all she was mad with herself for believing that living with him was the best she could ever do in life. For letting him take over her entire world, until she’d lost control and herself.

Well, no more. She’d rather be alone for the rest of her life than lose herself in a relationship again.

Why her mind drifted to Hunter at that moment, she didn’t know. Correction. Hunter Smith. She’d read the name off his credit card. Now that she thought about it, she was mad with him, too.

A new emotion joined the others already warring inside her: embarrassment. She’d worked long and hard to escape Warren’s clutches and start her new life. Last thing she needed was her action-hero customer thinking he knew her secrets. Or worse, sending her pitying looks with those steel-colored eyes of his.

It’d be too much to ask that he leave town by morning, wouldn’t it?

Knowing her luck, he’d be back at his table tomorrow, with that field coat and those big broad shoulders. Checking the bruises on her wrist.

She’d rather face down her ex.

* * *

“Eggs over easy, wheat toast, side of bacon.”

Abby held her order pad in front of her face like a shield. If she didn’t look at Hunter’s face, she wouldn’t have to see his expression. Bad enough that the mere thought of facing him gave her stress dreams.

Given everything that had happened yesterday, she’d think Warren would be the one haunting her subconscious. But when she closed her eyes, it was Hunter who invaded her thoughts.

She knew why he was on her mind. It was because he knew her dirty little secret. For so long, keeping secrets was how she’d lived her life. Her mistakes—and man, did she make some whoppers—were hers to hide. To think that now someone else knew—saw—the evidence... Part of her wanted to crawl into a hole. Another part wanted to tell Hunter to take his sympathy and shove it. She settled for focusing on the two-by-three square in front of her face.

“You going to write the order down?” Hunter asked.

“Not necessary.”

There was a long, drawn-out pause. “You sure?”

Against her better judgment, Abby lowered the pad to stare at him. “You don’t think I can remember?”

“Did I say that?”

His silence said so for him. Granted, she’d forgotten a few orders in the beginning, but she’d improved a lot since then. “You’ve ordered the same thing for twelve days,” she told him.

“Nice to know I’m so memorable.”

More like predictable, she wanted to say. Though that wouldn’t be quite true. She certainly hadn’t predicted his behavior yesterday. “I’ll go get your coffee.”

“How’s your wrist?”

Exactly the topic she hoped to avoid. “Fine,” she replied in a stiff voice. Her fingers twitched with the urge to tug on her cardigan, to hide the gauze bandage peering out from beneath the cuff. The bruises were darker this morning. Dark enough that simply wearing long sleeves wouldn’t be enough to hide them, so she’d covered them with a bandage. Her plan was to tell anyone who asked that she burned herself. Didn’t it figure, the first person to say anything would be the one man she didn’t want to hear from?

“I’ll be back with your coffee,” she said, turning on her heel.

Damned if she couldn’t feel him watching her walk back to the counter. Awareness washed over her, making her insides quiver. She wasn’t used to being looked at under any circumstances. In fact, Warren was the first man who’d ever paid her any kind of attention. Look how terrific that had turned out. Naturally, having a man as handsome as Hunter scrutinizing her set Abby’s nerves on edge. Doubly so since she knew his scrutiny wasn’t anything more than sympathetic curiosity. It made her feel like some wounded animal in the zoo. Out of the corner of her eye she caught her reflection in the stainless steel. Limp, uncooperative hair; pale skin. Yeah, like she’d attract attention. It scared her to think Warren was right. That he was the best she could do.

Good thing she didn’t mind being alone.

Tugging her cuff down to her knuckles, she made her way back to Hunter’s table.

“You’re going to pull that sleeve out of shape,” he remarked.

So what? It was her sweater. If she wanted to stretch it out, she would. “Do you need cream?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot already?”

“Sorry. Guess you’re not so memorable, after all.” She reached into her apron pocket and removed the plastic creamer pods she’d grabbed when getting his coffee. The motion caused her sleeve to pull upward. Whether Hunter looked at the exposed bandage or not didn’t matter; she felt he was and that was enough.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said suddenly.

“You do?”

“Yeah.” He thought he knew her story based on one short encounter. “You’re wrong, though. I’m not.”

“Not what?”

“Not...” She raised her bandaged arm. “Not anymore. I left Warren.”

“Oh.”

That was it? Oh? Abby watched him as he blew across the top of his cup, his lips pursing ever so slightly. It was the only change in his expression.

“Doesn’t seem to be taking the breakup too well,” he said finally.

“He’ll adjust. Yesterday was...” No need getting into a long, drawn-out explanation. “Look, I’m only explaining because you—”

“Saw the bruises?”

“Say it a little louder, why don’t you? They didn’t hear you downtown.” Swiping at her bangs, Abby looked around at the other tables. Fortunately, no one had heard, or if they did, had decided not to share.

“I wanted to make sure you understood the deal. Because of yesterday. Not that I don’t appreciate what you did and all.”

“You’re welcome.”

Abby pursed her lips. “Point is, your help wasn’t necessary. I have the situation under control.”

“I could tell.”

“Seriously, I do.” She didn’t like how his response sounded mocking. It made her even more defensive. Maybe she hadn’t had control at that exact moment, but she would have handled the situation. “So you won’t need to repeat the performance.”

“In other words, mind my own business.”

Exactly. “I’m saying it’s not necessary.”

Hunter nodded into the rim of his cup. “Good to know. I’m not really into rescues to begin with.”

“You’re not?” Could have fooled her.

“Nah. Like you said, it’s not my business.”

“Then why...?”

“Did I step in yesterday?” He shrugged. “What can I say? My mother was a Southerner and raised me to be a gentleman.”

So he was protecting her honor? Abby’s stomach fluttered. “Well, you can tell your mother the lesson sank in.”

“I would, but she’s dead.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged again. “Don’t be. It was twenty years ago.”

When he was a kid. The action hero had a sad past. A human side to balance the movie star exterior. Her edge toward him softened a little.

“Abby! Customers!” Guy’s voice cut over the clanging of plates and silverware. “Stick and move, will ya?”

“Duty calls.” Any more conversation would have to wait. “I’ll be back with your eggs soon as they’re ready.”

* * *

Under control, huh? Hunter watched as she bustled off to wait on two businessmen seated two tables over, her knotted ponytail bouncing in cadence with her steps. The gauze on her wrist flashed white as she raised her order pad. Who was she trying to convince with that statement? Him or herself?

Not his business. The lady said she had the situation under control. He was off the hook.

Which suited him fine. Besides, he thought as he raised his coffee mug, maybe the lady did have the situation under control, and that air of vulnerability was all in his head. Wouldn’t be the first time.

He reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a manila folder. Probably not the best way to keep the dark thoughts at bay, but he looked at the photo anyway. It was the picture he’d taken of Abby. After much deliberation, he’d decided to print the photo in black-and-white, finding the absence of color highlighted the shadows on her cheeks.

Hunter stared at her eyes. There it was. The sadness. They always said eyes were the windows of the soul and that photography captured a little slice of that spirit. In Abby’s case, her spirit was wrapped in a kaleidoscope of emotions. Question was, what emotions were they? Photography, like all art, was open to interpretation. What looked soulful could really be distant, simmering resentment waiting to blow up in your face.

Another argument for focusing on simply taking the picture.

Finished with the businessmen, Abby had moved back to the order window, where she was now dancing back and forth with another waitress who was laden with plates. Hunter let his eyes skim Abby’s figure. The misshapen cardigans she wore every day didn’t do her silhouette any favors. She had great legs, though. They managed to look shapely despite the sensible shoes. He tried to imagine what they’d look like with her in a shorter skirt and high heels. Not bad, he bet.

He was still contemplating when Abby set a plate in front of him. “What’s this?” she asked.

She’d spotted the photo. Since the subject was self-explanatory, he took a bite of his eggs before answering. “You.”

“I know it’s me. When did you take it?”

“Yesterday. Right here on the sidewalk.”

Her brows drew together. “How? Were you following me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Although given her ex, he could see how she might jump to that conclusion. “I live across the street. I took the photo on my way back to my building.”

“Without saying anything?”

“Alerting you to my presence would have spoiled the shot.”

“So instead, you creeped.”

Hunter set down his fork. “I was discreet. It’s what a good photographer does.”

“Is it now?” Shooting him a dubious look, she wiped her hands on her apron and picked up the photo.

“Wow,” she said after a minute.

Exactly his reaction when he’d finished the digital enhancement. Hunter didn’t usually care about compliments; he had enough confidence in his skills that other opinions didn’t affect him. But hearing Abby’s whispered surprise, and seeing the look of genuine wonder that accompanied it, set off an eruption of heated satisfaction.

“I look...” As she paused to find the word, she worried her upper lip between her teeth. It was such an expressive gesture, Hunter had to fight the urge to grab his camera and snap away.

At last she set the photo down. “Tired,” she said. “I look tired.”

“Yeah, you do.” No sense lying when there were such pronounced circles under her eyes. “But I think you’re missing the point.” The weariness was part of what made her—that is, her picture—so captivating. “The photo is telling the story.”

“What? Woman works hard for the money? Donna Summer already covered it.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m here all week.” Her mood sobered as she brushed her fingertips along the glossy paper. “Sadly, this might be the best picture I’ve ever had taken.”

“Not surprising. It’s probably the first time you were shot by a quality photographer.”

She laughed. A short, sweet laugh that turned her features bright. To Hunter’s surprise, seeing her face light up sent the heat in his gut six inches lower. “Wish I’d known. Might have saved me from years of awful holiday photos. Warren said I looked like a deer about to be plowed into.”

“Were you?” Hunter asked. “About to be run over?”

Brown eyes raised to look at him. “I thought you said the problem was the photographer.”

“Photographers also capture reality.”

“Doesn’t that just support my argument about looking terrible?”

“Only if you’re terrible-looking to begin with.”

“Generally speaking, of course.” Pink colored her cheeks and she looked at the floor. It made him wonder how often she heard compliments. Considering her d-bag of an ex-boyfriend, it likely wasn’t often.

Hunter handed her the photograph. “Here.”

“You’re giving it to me?”

“Why not? It’s a picture of you.”

“Yeah, but...” Whatever she was going to say drifted off as her hand brushed against his. Hunter watched as her eyes widened at the contact. Fear of another man’s touch? Her pupils were wide and dark, turning her irises into thin, brown frames.

For some reason, he found himself wanting to extend the contact, and so he dragged his index finger slowly across the back of her hand as he withdrew. Beneath his touch, he felt her skin quiver.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome.”

“So this is how you take care of your customers.”

Warren. Abby yanked her hand away, sending the picture fluttering to the ground. Before either she or Hunter could move, her ex-boyfriend leaned over and picked it up. Abby tried to snatch it from his grip, but he held tight. “Nice picture. You look...good.”

Abby couldn’t answer. Her insides were too tense. Across the way, she could see Guy watching them. Please don’t let there be trouble. “I thought I told you yesterday that I didn’t want to see you.”

“That was yesterday. I figured now that you had time to sleep on things, you’d changed your mind. Course, that was before I realized why you didn’t want me around.”

Warren’s eyes were hard and glittered like diamonds. Abby knew the look well. His calm demeanor was an act, a respite before the storm.

Hadn’t she told Hunter she had the situation under control? She squared her shoulders. “Warren, you need to leave.”

“Not until we talk. You changed your phone number.”

“That should have been a clue that I don’t want to talk with you.”

“Come on, babe, stop being stubborn. I know I messed up, but that’s no reason to run away. Let’s get out of here and talk. You’ll see how sorry I am, and you’ll change your mind.”

No way. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she told him.

“There you go, being stubborn again.”

He moved to grab her hand. Abby jerked out of his grasp. “Oh, sure, I can’t touch you, but you got no problem letting him paw you,” he snarled.

“She said she didn’t want to talk with you.”

Great. Until then, Hunter had been quiet. What happened to staying on the sidelines? “I’ve got this, Hunter,” she told him. Last thing she needed was for him to butt in and make a bad situation worse.

Warren’s mottled face grew a shade redder. “‘This’?” Too late, Abby realized her poor choice words. The switch flipped and the true Warren appeared. “You think I’m something you need to ‘handle’?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant, you ungrateful cow.” This time when he reached for her, he was successful, latching on to her arm with an iron grip. “I’m done playing around. Let’s go.”

She stood her ground. “No.”

Warren yanked her arm. Abby winced.

“The lady said no.” Hunter had gotten up and moved between them, essentially blocking their exit.

“Get out of my way,” Warren said.

“How about you let go of her arm?”

By now the other customers were watching. Guy had come out from the kitchen and was about two seconds away from throwing them all out. Abby’s pulse began to race. She half considered going, if to only keep the scene from escalating any further.

“We can talk,” she said, scrambling for a compromise. “But here. Sit down and I’ll bring you some coffee.”

It didn’t work. “Since when do you tell me what I can and can’t do? After everything I’ve done for you? You’re lucky I’m taking you back after the way you humiliated me.”

“I’m not going back!” For crying out loud, it was like a broken record. Abby yanked herself free, only to stumble backward into Hunter’s table, knocking his coffee cup off balance. The cup fell on its side, hot liquid spilling over the edge, where it dripped on the camera below.

“Son of a—” Hunter grabbed for it just as the liquid began running down the outer casing. “This is a five-thousand-dollar camera.”

“Serves you right for butting in where you don’t belong.” Warren sneered.

Hunter set the camera down on a clean table. “That so?” he asked. His voice was low and precise. Compared with Warren’s bluster, the quiet deliberateness sounded like ice. The air in the diner chilled.

“Seems to me,” Hunter said, stepping into the other man’s space, “that the problem started when you walked in the door. Now if my camera has any damage at all, you’re going to pay.”

Her ex-boyfriend scoffed, not realizing he was out of his league. “I’m not paying you for anything.”

Hunter took another step. “Oh, I think you will.”

“Okay, you three...”

A standoff. Just great. It figured Warren would choose today to become macho and proud. It was the money. He would run into a burning building to protect five thousand dollars. Meanwhile, Guy was limping over to them. Abby almost groaned out loud. This could only end one way. Badly and with her getting fired. Quickly she stepped between the two men, hoping to regain control before Guy took action. “Look, guys, I’m sure if there’s a problem we can—”

“Stay out of this!” Warren snapped. With that, he did what he did best—shoved her aside. Stuck between two tables, Abby found herself with little room to maneuver. Her feet tangled with a chair leg and she fell to the floor, but not before her back slammed into the edge of one of the tables. The table tipped, scraping her skin from bra strap to waist, and sending its contents spilling. Glass and silverware landed on the floor behind her.

So did Hunter’s camera. It hit the floor with a crack. The diner went still.

After that, everything happened in a flash. A patron gasped, Guy started yelling, and Abby barely had time to catch her breath before Hunter’s fist connected with Warren’s jaw.

* * *

“Still think you have the situation under control?” Hunter asked.

The two of them sat on a marble bench in the corridor of the new courthouse. After Hunter threw his punch, and Guy threw the three of them out on the sidewalk, Warren had insisted on dragging a nearby traffic cop into the mess by claiming he’d been assaulted. All three of them had ended up in a police station, where Hunter, ever helpful, had suggested the police ask about the bruises on Abby’s wrist. They did, and after a whole lot of questions, she found herself here, at the courthouse, waiting to speak to a judge about a nonharassment order against Warren.

“No,” she said, answering Hunter’s question. She felt anything but in control. Though she might have been if he’d minded his own business. “I could have sworn I told you to mind your own business.”

“You’d rather I let him twist your arm off?”

What she’d rather was if the whole incident had never happened. “You didn’t hit him for me,” she pointed out.

“No, I hit him because he damn near destroyed my camera. And because he shoved you to the ground.”

“Yeah, let’s not forget that,” Abby replied, arching her back. No sense pointing out she was the one, technically, who’d knocked over the camera. Nor the fact that the camera wouldn’t have fallen in the first place had he minded his own business—as he claimed he preferred to do.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, she looked down at Hunter’s hands. They were big, strong hands, she noted. Showing barely a mark where his fist had connected with Warren’s face. “You get most of the ink off?” she asked.

His shoulder moved up and down. “Most of it.”

That was another thing. Because Warren had cried assault, Hunter had found himself being charged. Good thing her knight in shining armor didn’t have any outstanding warrants, or they might still be at the station house. Abby supposed she should feel bad about the fingerprinting and all, but again, it wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t interfered. In fact, if he hadn’t interfered the day before, none of today would have happened at all.

She let out another sigh. “Do me a favor. Next time I say I’ve got a situation handled, stay out of it. I don’t care what your Southern mother taught you.”

“Do I have to remind you that saying you could handle the situation caused part of the problem? Unless your idea of handling was to get dragged out into the street. ’Cause that’s where your ex-boyfriend was taking you.”

Recalling Warren’s grip on her arm, Abby winced. Hunter was right, unfortunately. She just couldn’t bring herself to say thank-you. Not quite yet. “Well, after I meet with the judge, I won’t have to worry about Warren bothering me again. Nothing says ‘we’re over’ like a restraining order.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t get a court order before,” Hunter remarked.

“I didn’t think I’d need one.” A stupid assumption now that she thought about it. She should have listened to the ladies at McKenzie House. They’d told her Warren wouldn’t let her end things on her terms.

Why weren’t courthouse benches made more comfortable? The narrow space forced Abby and Hunter close together. Well, that and the fact that his long frame took up so much space. His thigh was pressed against hers and she could feel his jacket brush against her sleeve every time he breathed. The increased body heat had her feeling off balance. She tried shifting her weight, but nothing changed. Everywhere she moved, Hunter was there, his hard, lean body pressed tightly against hers, the contact sending disconcerting tingles up and down her arm.

This was crazy. She was in a courthouse, for goodness’ sake, filing a restraining order. Wrapping her cardigan tightly about her, she stood up, only to wince when her clothing rubbed her bruised skin.

“How is your back?” Hunter asked.

The truth? Her back stung like heck every time she moved, and a headache pounded her temples. “I’ve had worse.”

“You always such a bad liar?”

Abby looked at him through narrowed eyes. “What can I say? I’m off my game.”

And who could blame her? Too much had happened in a very short time. Her system needed recharging. She crossed the hallway to lean against the wall, grateful for the additional personal space.

Hunter stayed on the bench, forearms resting on his knees. Abby had been too annoyed with him earlier to notice, but he looked as tired as she felt. “Why are you still here?” she asked, voicing a question that had been bothering her for a while. “The police said you could go a couple hours ago.”

“I’ve stayed this long. Might as well see the process through.”

Thus making a difficult situation all the much more awkward. Abby combed her fingers through the hair around her face. “I thought you weren’t into rescues.”

“I’m not. But I’m also not into leaving loose ends.”

“That’s how you see me? As a loose end?”

“Your goon of an ex-boyfriend is,” he replied. “What on earth were you doing with him, anyway?”

Something she’d asked herself a million times, hating the answer. “He was different when we met. Bought me gifts. Took me places. I bought the act.” She could feel Hunter’s eyes on her, waiting for more. “You’ve got to understand. I wasn’t used to nice.

“Or attention,” she added, fiddling with a button. “I mean, he lost his temper once in a while, but he was always really sorry. Wasn’t all that different from other families, right?”

Hunter raised a brow.

“I was nineteen years old. What did I know?” Obviously not a lot.

What bothered her the most about her story was how easily she’d made Warren the center of her world. Everything these past years had been about him. His moods, his wishes. Letting herself disappear. That was her biggest crime. All because he’d been nice.

“Sounds pretty stupid, huh?” she said to Hunter, although she could have easily been talking to herself.

Her companion hadn’t changed his position other than to lower his gaze to the floor. She wished she could see his eyes, to know what he was thinking. How could someone like him ever truly understand? A man who looked like Hunter, who carried himself with as much confidence as Hunter—his world was probably filled with men and women begging for his company. What would he know about “falling for a kind word”?

“I try to make a point of not judging,” he said as he studied the palm of his hand.

“Really? I think you might be the first.”

Though his eyes remained focused on the ground, Abby saw his cheek tug in a smirk. “Let’s say I’ve learned not to make assumptions about things. Or people.”

“Bad experience?”

He looked up and it shocked her to see how closed off his face had become. As if a steel curtain had dropped over his eyes. “You could say that.”

Abby knew the terse tone of voice. He didn’t want to elaborate. Apparently, she was the only one who was required to share.

“Anyway,” she said, “eventually I came to my senses, and one day while he was at work, I took off with three months’ worth of grocery money.” There was more to the story, of course. Much more. Situations like hers didn’t blossom overnight. But she’d said enough to make her point. Hunter wasn’t the only one who could refuse to elaborate. “Never thought I’d be sitting here, though.”

All right, technically standing. She pulled her sweater tighter. The thing had been tugged at so much she was amazed it had any shape left. She was tired. The day’s events were finally catching up with her, pressing down with an unbearable weight.

“Do you still love him?”

“Good Lord, no,” she replied, surprised at how emphatic she sounded. “Those feelings died a long time ago.” Sometimes she couldn’t believe she’d once cared for the man. “Tell you one thing,” she said, toeing the marble floor. “Six years ago I never would have believed I’d end up here.”

“That, sweetheart, makes two of us.”

The courtroom door opened, preventing Abby from commenting. “They’re ready for you, Miss Gray,” the uniformed woman said.

This was it. Abby looked to Hunter, hoping for what, she didn’t know. “Time to get Warren out of my life once and for all,” she said, forcing a determined note into her voice. It wasn’t until she reached the courtroom door that she added under her breath, “I’m just sorry I have to be here.”

Me, too, thought Hunter as he followed her into the courtroom. There were a thousand better ways he could be spending his day.

She was right; he didn’t have to be here. So why was he? Why on earth had he spent two extra hours sitting on hard marble benches and watching some woman he barely knew fill out forms?

Maybe because you’re the reason she’s here in the first place. If he hadn’t thrown the first punch—the only punch—Warren would never have gone wailing to the police. But that camera was Hunter’s baby, dammit! What was he supposed to do? Just let the jerk damage it?

Yeah, because Hunter’s outburst was all about photography equipment, and had nothing to do with seeing Abby fall backward. He could try to sell himself that excuse all day long. Truth was, he hadn’t gone after Warren until she’d lost her balance. Then Hunter had seen red.

What the hell was wrong with him? His job was to capture action on film, not become the action. Yet here he was, playing hero two days in a row. Civilized society be damned.

After dragging all afternoon, the process in front of the judge moved quickly. Hunter had to give Abby credit. It couldn’t be easy answering the same questions over and over. Although he could tell from her posture that she was wound tighter than tight, the only outward sign of stress were the fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. He found himself wanting to snatch them up and hold them still.

It took less than ten minutes for the judge to approve her petition and grant a temporary order. A member of the sheriff’s department would serve Warren that night. Hunter didn’t miss the way Abby’s shoulders relaxed at the announcement.

“Congratulations,” he said when he met her at the door.

“You make it sound like I won the lottery.”

“You got rid of the ex.”

She seemed far from relieved. Surely she didn’t regret the order?

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped, giving him a dirty look when he asked. “It’s just...” She swiped at her bangs. “I feel like an idiot for buying his act.”

“Happens to the best of us.”

She glanced at Hunter sideways. “Meaning it happened to you?”

“Meaning you’re probably not the only one Warren fooled.” The elevator doors opened and they stepped inside, Hunter immediately making his way to the rear. Truth was, he understood what had happened to Abby all too well.

Shoving bad memories back where they belonged, he continued. “If it’s any consolation, I know his type. Faced with a real obstacle, he’ll back off. Fifteen days from now, he’ll have moved on to someone else.”

“In other words, some other woman gets suckered and goes through what I went through. Lucky her.”

Hunter didn’t know how to reply.

They rode down the three floors in silence. It had been a long day. Stealing a look in Abby’s direction, Hunter regretted packing his camera away. She wouldn’t want to hear it, but her appearance at that moment told a real story. With the fluorescent light casting a gray pall on her skin, he could see the cracks in her stoicism. The pronounced circles under her eyes, the subtle slump of her shoulders. Her makeup had worn off hours earlier and her hair... Her hair was an all-out mess. The morning’s haphazard ponytail was now an out-of-control bunch. Most of the strands had fallen loose, and those that hadn’t weren’t far behind. Made him wonder if her insides weren’t in a similar state.

And, strangely enough, wonder if she could use a hug.

When they stepped outside, shadows were crawling up the sides of buildings, engulfing the lower halves of high-rises in shade. Sunset came early this time of year. In a few hours, the streets would be dark. So much for taking any pictures. His flash and lighting equipment were back at the loft.

“What are you going to do now?” he asked Abby. “Head home?”

Asking only reminded him that he knew very little about her life beyond the diner. Did she have a home? She’d said she’d left with only a few months of grocery money. What kind of apartment did that get a person? He was embarrassed to realize he didn’t know.

“Actually, I thought I’d go back to the diner. I need to talk to Guy about my job. If I still have one,” she added in a low voice.

“I’m sure once you explain the situation...”

From the look she shot him, Abby didn’t believe that possibility any more than he did.

“Sure, he’ll understand. Because Guy’s such an understanding person. I bet when he yelled ‘get out and stay out,’ he was only kidding.”

Unfortunately, she was probably right; her job was history. Hunter felt a little bad about that.

A cab pulled to the curb. He beat Abby to the rear door, opening it and motioning for her to climb into the backseat. “We’re going in the same direction. No sense grabbing separate taxis.”

“True.” Despite sounding less than thrilled, she slid across the leather seat, only to stop halfway across. Holy Mother of— Had she been hiding those legs under that ugly skirt all this time? Her uniform had bunched up, revealing a pair of creamy white thighs. “One thing,” she said. “On the off chance I convince Guy to let me keep my job, there’s something I’d like you to do.”

“Sure.” Still blown away from the legs, Hunter was more than glad to let her talk. Especially if it kept the view from disappearing. “Just name it.” He forced himself to look her in the eye.

The gaze that met his was hot and frosty at the same time. “Find somewhere else to eat.”

CHAPTER THREE

“GET OUT.”

Abby looked over her shoulder, hoping Guy was talking to Hunter and not to her. Apparently her request in the cab had fallen on deaf ears, because the photographer had insisted on following her inside after the cab ride home.

Her plan had been simple. Catch Guy before he locked up, apologize and assure him that Warren wouldn’t be back. If necessary, beg and plead a little. Instead, she barely got through the door when he came around to the front of the counter. Dish towel slung over his shoulder, he jabbed the air with his gnarled finger. “Both of you,” he said. “Out.”

Abby almost went. After all, six years of being pliant didn’t disappear overnight. Taking a deep breath, she held her ground. “Can’t we talk about this?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I told you when I hired you to keep your drama outside, and I meant it. You can’t do that, you’re out of here. There are plenty of waitresses who can do your job and who won’t cause fist fights during my breakfast rush.”

“Abby didn’t cause the fight.”

“Stay out of this,” she snapped to Hunter. His help had caused enough problems.

“Fine.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “You’re on your own.”

“Thank you.” Too bad he hadn’t backed off so readily this morning.

“Can’t you give me another chance?” she asked, turning her attention back to her boss. Her ex-boss. Hopefully soon to be boss again. “I know this morning was bad.”

Guy waggled his index finger again. “Not only did you cause a fight, you left us shorthanded.”

“I know, and I’m really, really sorry. I promise to make it up to you.”

“Who’s gonna make it up to the customers I lost?”

It was a neighborhood restaurant with regular customers. He hadn’t lost anybody. Telling him he was exaggerating wouldn’t help her cause, though. If she’d learned anything from her years with Warren, it was when to keep her comments to herself. Instead, she moved to the second half of her plan. “Please, Guy. I’m begging you. I really need this job.”

“You should have thought about that before bringing your little love triangle to work.”

Love triangle? That’s what he thought today was about? A love triangle?

“That is definitely not what happened,” she said.

Guy dismissed her with a slap of his towel from one shoulder to another. “Don’t care what it is,” he said. “You’re still gone.” He turned his back.

Gone. As in fired. She couldn’t be. “But Warren won’t be back,” she said, chasing after him. “I went to court. I got a restraining order.”

The kitchen door swung shut in her face. “You still owe me a paycheck!” she hollered through the order window.

“What paycheck? I’m keeping it to cover the damages.”

Damages, her foot. A couple broken dishes wouldn’t take a whole paycheck, even with Guy’s cheap wages.

Could this day get any worse?

“Come back tomorrow after he’s calmed down,” she heard Hunter say.

What good would that do? Guy wasn’t going to change overnight. Why was Hunter still here, anyway? “Don’t you have pictures to take or something?” she asked him. She would have thought he’d be on his way a long time ago.

“Lost all the good light,” he replied.

“Oh, good. Then we’ve both lost something. I feel so much better.” Rude? Yes, but she wasn’t in the mood to be pleasant. Pushing her way past him, she headed to the front door. As if he had all day, Hunter accompanied her.

“You’ll find another job, you know.”

Easy for him to say. He had a job. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to get this one?” Of course he didn’t. “News flash. Jobs don’t grow on trees. Especially when you don’t have skills. Or experience.” Only thing she knew how to do was cook, clean and manage Warren’s tantrums. Hardly stuff to build a résumé on.

“Thanks to today, I can’t even use Guy as a reference.”

Suddenly exhausted, she sank down on the steps of the building next door. Her body felt as if it’d been hit by a truck. Come to think of it, she might be better off if she had been hit by a truck. At least then she’d be in a hospital bed, and Guy might feel bad enough to let her keep her job.

She jammed her fingers through her hair, destroying what was left of her ponytail. “You know what really stinks?” she asked Hunter. “Warren’s the bad guy in all of this and he’s got everything. The apartment, a job, money—”

“A shiny new restraining order.”

“Big whoop. So he can’t come within a hundred yards. You said yourself, he’ll move on before the hearing. Meanwhile, what do I have? No job and nine hundred lousy dollars in the bank. You tell me where that’s fair.”

“I can’t.”

Tears burned the back of her eyes. She blinked them away. Very least she would do was keep her pride. “All I wanted was to get my life back. Is that so freaking wrong?”

“No.”

“I was close, too.” She was. She had a job. She was saving money. Until Mr. Action Hero decided to live up to his looks. Now everything was ruined. “Why’d you have to punch him?”

Hunter sat on the step next to her. “I already told you.”

“I know, I know. He almost broke your fancy-schmancy camera.”

“That fancy-schmancy camera, as you put it, happens to be my life.”

“So was my job!” Abby flung the words back at him. “Bet you didn’t think about that when you decided to get all tough with Warren, did you? Who cares about Abby, right? Not like she matters. She’s just some useless piece of...”

The dam broke and all the frustration that had been building since the morning came roaring free. She was angry. At Hunter. At Warren. Mostly, though, at herself for letting herself be held down for six long years and ending up here in the first place. With hot tears threatening to blind her yet again, she lashed out at the first thing she could reach, which happened to be Hunter’s chest. “Damn you,” she said, slapping at his jacket. “Damn you, damn you, damn you.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.