In Hot Pursuit (7 page)

"Just a
sister," Will replied. "My mother died a few years back."

"And your
father?" Nellie asked.

Will felt his
chest constrict. "He's also… dead." Uncomfortable with the direction
of the conversation, he said, "What kind of work were you doing when you
were... uh—"

"Fired?"
Nellie smiled. "It's okay. I'm resigned to it now. I was an accountant for
an advertising firm. And technically I wasn't fired. My boss terminated my job,
which allowed me to collect unemployment. The job wasn't a career though, just
a necessity after Richard died. My plan is to save for a computer and start a
private accounting business in my home, or my boat—small businesses, taxes,
things
like that."

Will thought
about the unexpected turn in Nellie's life, the tremendous responsibility she
carried. But he sensed that like him, she was a survivor. But unlike him, she
wasn't a loner.

Nellie's hand
holding the sandpaper stilled, and she looked at him. "What brought you to
Port Townsend?" she asked.

"The
Marine Science Institute," Will replied.

"How come
you own a boathouse when you don't own a boat?" Nellie asked.

"Your
uncle made me an offer I couldn't refuse," Will replied. "And it's a
place to live until I do get my own boat, which I will in the near future. In
fact, I'd be interested in buying the
Isadora
if you ever decide to sell."

Nellie started
sanding again. "Don't hold your breath," she said. "So, where is
your sister?"

"Kelsey's
in New York making it big as a model." Will smiled fondly at the vision of
his gangly younger sister strutting her stuff. "I'm real proud of
her."

"She must
be thin," Nellie speculated.

"She's
that all right. Like a willow branch," Will replied. When he saw Nellie
place her palm on her tummy, which was rounded in a nice way, he added,
"She's obviously not trying to attract a man since most men like a little
more substance on a woman."

"And
you?" Nellie looked at him.

A loaded
question, Will realized, and wished he could dodge it. But Nellie was staring
at him, waiting for a response. Giving a little shrug, he said, "I guess
I'm one of those males who like a little substance on a woman." He smiled.
"I'd say you're padded in all the right places."

Nellie started
sanding in quick, agitated strokes. "It's called Rubenesque," she
said.

Will couldn’t
stop the wide grin as he watched the way Nellie's nicely-rounded bottom twisted
in opposition with the movement of her ample breasts. There was no question.
Nellie was padded in all the right places, with gently tapering hips, and just
enough waist to give her a nice shape—the kind of body that made him constantly
aware she was all woman, and he was a man with a man's need. Dangerous
thoughts. Thoughts best kept in check when out at sea, if in fact, he’d be able
to keep his hands to off
 
Nellie within
the tight confines of the
Isadora
. He
already had the urge. But Nellie's presence did other things, things he
couldn't allow because to do so would open him up to the danger of letting her
slip into his insular world. And there was no place for Nellie and her son
there.

***

Will noticed a
light on in the
Isadora
. At midnight,
he'd expected to find it dark and Nellie and Mike asleep, especially after the
exhausting hours they'd put in. They'd spent their first few days scraping,
sanding and varnishing lockers and doors. The next couple of days they'd
scoured and sealed the teakwood decks, oiled handrails, shined brass, and
scrubbed the hardwood floors. Toward the end of the week they worked outside,
scraping door and window frames in preparation for painting. Once that was
complete, and the new carpets installed, the
Isadora
would be the grand lady of the sea Nellie described from
her childhood.

He saw Nellie's
silhouette move past the window, then turn back and pass again, as if she were
pacing, then she disappeared from his view. Maybe she was too exhausted to
sleep. Or maybe she was having trouble with the head overflowing again and
didn't want to disturb him. A tempting thought. Nellie disturbing him the way
he'd like to be disturbed by a beautiful woman in the middle of the night. And
there was no question he needed a woman, one like Nellie, who was all woman,
from the tip of her pretty nose to the crests of her full round...

Hell.
Fantasizing about Nellie's female assets was making things worse. But
unstopping the head might alleviate his problem. A good taste of reality did
that for a man. Tugging on a pair of sweats, he descended the stairs. Through
the salon window he saw Nellie sitting on the couch, elbows propped on her
knees, chin cupped in her palms.

Grabbing his
shirt, he shrugged into it as he descended the stairs, then he hopped aboard
the boat and knocked lightly. Nellie looked up with a start. He peeked through
the window and waved. "It's just me," he assured her.

Nellie patted
her chest. "You scared me half to death," she said. "Come on
in."

Will let
himself
in. What caught his attention was the creamy flesh
rising and falling where her robe came open with her anxious breaths. He even
caught a glimpse of a rosy crest peeking through the lace of her gown before
she sat up straight and adjusted the closure. "You're up so late," he
said. "I thought you might be having trouble with the head again."

Nellie slumped
against the cushioned backrest, and the robe gaped open again, though he knew
she was unaware of it. "It's Mike," she said, wearily. "He had a
nightmare."

Will sat beside
her, but determined to keep his eyes on her face. "Lots of kids have nightmares,"
he said. "I had them all the time." It had been years since he'd
awakened from his recurring dream of being on an ice floe that was slowly
drifting from shore, taking him to some dark, frightening place where he'd
scream and no one would come. The dream started the night he and Kelsey were
placed in separate homes. His foster mother assured him that wherever the ice
floe was taking him would be right for him. He couldn't remember where he'd
finally decided he was going, but it was months before the ice floe nightmare
stopped. It stopped, that is, until he was sixteen, when another, far more
terrifying one took its place....

"It's
different with Mike," Nellie insisted. "He wakes up screaming, and
it's always the same dream. I've lost count of how many nights he's startled me
with his screams. Sometimes he thrashes around still sleeping, and I can hardly
wake him."

"I'm
surprised I didn't hear him," Will said. "The windows in the
boathouse are open."

"Tonight
he didn't actually scream, just moaned and thrashed around," Nellie
replied. "But other times he does. Some nights he's more disturbed than
others. I try to calm him as best I can, usually by rubbing his back until he
falls asleep again. But then I stay awake the rest of the night. It's pretty
emotionally draining." She let out a weary breath and slumped her
shoulders and he was rewarded by a view of a lace-clad breast and a puckered
tip.

Fighting the
urge to slip his hand inside her robe and fill his palm with all that soft
female flesh, he forced himself to focus on her face. "You're really
worried," he said, wondering if the rise and fall of her chest was from
anxiety, or because he was there. Her proximity was definitely having a
dramatic effect on him.

"He keeps
dreaming about falling into a deep dark hole," Nellie said. "It
started after the automobile accident that killed his father and came close to
killing him. Dr. Emery says the dreams will taper off, but that's not the case.
They seem to come more frequently. This is the third time this week."

Will moved to
sit beside her and took her hand, and when she made no move to stop him, he
began idly stroking her wrist with his thumb. "Has Mike tried to interpret
his own dream?" he asked, wondering if the rest of Nellie was as soft as
her wrist. Damn! That robe was driving him crazy… as was that troublesome part
of him below his waist...

"Dr. Emery
discussed the dream with him," Nellie explained. "He told Mike it was
a reaction to losing someone he loved, that dreaming of going through a dark
tunnel represents his period of adjustment before achieving his desire, which
is to accept the death of his father." Her intake of air had the robe
closing momentarily, but the long sigh that followed had it gaping open again.

Realizing he
was coming up with more reasons to act on his natural impulse to slip his hand
inside her robe than to continue holding her hand, he said, "Sorry, but
I'm having trouble following what you're saying." He reached over and
pulled the robe closed.

"Oh my
gosh!" Nellie clamped her hands over her chest before Will could pull his
hand away, trapping his palm against her breast. As Will withdrew his hand, the
intimate contact was almost his undoing. He'd felt a sample of what Nellie had
to offer, and he knew it would haunt him until he either acted on it, or she
was out of his life. Oddly, he found the latter troubling, though he knew it
was inevitable.

Clearly
embarrassed, Nellie said, "I had no idea… I mean... I'm so sorry. You must
think I'm…" She stopped short. Her face flushed.

"It's
okay," Will assured her. "I enjoyed the view. I just found it
distracting. But back to Mike. You said he dreamed about falling into a dark
hole, not going through a tunnel."

Nellie blinked
several times, as if collecting her thoughts, then straightened her robe,
pulling her belt tight to assure its closure, and replied, "Dr. Emery says
it's the same thing."

"Maybe to
Dr. Emery it is," Will said, "but it might not be the same to Mike.
Has Mike ever come up with his own interpretation...
 
been given the chance to tell it as he sees
it?"

Nellie shook
her head.

"I'm no
psychiatrist, but I do know dreams are subjective. A dark hole might have a
different meaning to the doctor than it does to Mike. For instance, to me a
dark hole means security, a place to crawl into and hide and be safe—" He
paused, brows drawn together. "Have you ever read
The Tale of Mrs. Tittlemouse
?"

Nellie stared
at him. "The Tale of
who
?"

"Mrs.
Tittlemouse. You see, this little mouse lives in a hole in the ground. It's
fixed up nice, and she's very tidy." Waving his hand, he added,
"That's not important. My point is, maybe the doctor isn't letting Mike
come up with his own interpretation. Dreams are supposed to be therapeutic, so
if Mike keeps dreaming the same dream, and everyone keeps telling him it means
something that doesn't ring true to him, his dream won't be doing what it's
supposed to do. Maybe he should read
The
Tale of Mrs. Tittlemouse
. He'll see that dark holes can offer security too,
and maybe the dream won't seem so bad."

"I seriously
doubt if Mike would read a book about a mouse," Nellie said.
"However, you might have a point. I'll give it some thought." She
smiled at him, a pretty, dimpled smile that curled around his heart. "You
seem very perceptive when it comes to children," she added. "I'd say
you have the makings of a natural father."

Will looked at
her with a start. Until her comment, things had been warm, comfortable. But in
an instant everything changed. He recognized a woman on a mission to find a
step-father for her son, and he wasn't it, not by any stretch of the
imagination. Releasing her hand, he stood, and said, "There's lots to do
around here and time's running out, so we'd better get some sleep."

"Thanks
for coming," Nellie replied. "I feel better just having had the
chance to talk. Richard and I talked a lot about how to handle Mike, which is
one of the things I miss without Richard—" she paused, and her eyes fixed
on his chest where his unbuttoned shirt fell open, then moved down to focus on
his crotch for a moment before shifting quickly to his face. Blinking several
times, she said, "Do you lift weights?"

"Uh,
no," Will replied. "Did your husband lift weights?" He would
have sworn Nellie had been thinking about her dead husband moments before. At
least that's what her words implied. But her eyes had definitely fixed on his
chest then moved to his crotch, and there was no disguising what was happening
there. And both of them had unfulfilled sexual needs. It had been months since
he'd had a woman, and that had been one encounter with a woman who'd been
travelling across country with a pack on her back, a free spirit who crawled
into his tent one night when he was camped on the beach while studying a pod of
orca that often gathered in the small bay. He couldn't remember the woman's
name, and she left the next morning...

Nellie laughed.
"Oh, no. Richard wasn't into working out," she replied. "Unlike
you, he was pretty unfit."

Will eyed her
restlessly. There was only one reason a woman would indicate to a man that she liked
his body, and there was no question she'd done just that. There was also no
question that he wanted her. Wanted to strip off that robe and hold her flesh
to flesh, and take her mind off kids and nightmares and all her other worries,
until all that mattered to her was the pleasure his hands, and his mouth, and
that part of him primed to join with her would give her, and the rush of
sensations that would follow.

A dangerous
thought. Comforting Nellie Reid could take on a whole different meaning once he
started down that perilous road. No way. He'd stay out of her bed, and out of
her life. What Nellie Reid needed—a commitment of marriage for her, and a
step-father for her son—he could never give her. But before he'd cleared that
thought from his mind, she stood, opened her arms to him, and said, "I
could really use a goodnight hug."