Nobody's Business (Nobody Romances) (26 page)

Ah, yes. Kerri-Sue. Another co-conspirator. "I don't even
want to talk about Kerri-Sue except to fire her."

"No one's firing anyone. Not over this. The fact of the matter is, you liked Doug just fine till you found out what he does
for a living. Or maybe you just needed the excuse to keep hiding from life."

Her spine snapped to rigid. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do your research, Lynnie. We did." He hung up before she
could form a credible argument.

Never before had she heard that kind of animosity from
Richie. Which meant he felt pretty strongly that Doug Sawyer
posed no threat to her. Why?

Her shaky legs refused to support her any longer, and she finally had to sink into a cushioned wrought-iron chair near the
kitchen's bistro table. She buried her head in her folded arms.
After all these years, did Richie really need to be reminded
how much she feared the media? Hadn't her flight shown him
anything? Or had she run away, not from fear of the media coverage, but as Richie had intimated, from fear of her growing
attraction to someone other than Marc? Had she really used
Doug's profession as an excuse to flee the man she'd become so
fond of?

She sighed. Perhaps Richie was right. She needed more information.

There was a desktop computer in the family room and
included in her instructions from Brenda was the password to
access the Internet on that machine. Time to find out what
Richie knew that she didn't.

Once the computer powered on, she typed "Douglas Sawyer
The Sportsman" into the search engine. A long list of entries appeared, including a bibliography of articles written by Douglas Sawyer, sports reporter.

She chose an article at random, "The Trouble with Head
Games," and clicked on the related link. The story focused on
the proliferation of head injuries and concussions in high school
football. Doug had included several case studies from neurologists and trauma doctors, as well as interviews with players,
parents, and coaches. The details were thought-provoking. She
immediately found herself drawn in to his concerns for the
youths who hit the gridiron looking for fun and competition but
left injured, sometimes permanently.

She clicked on another article. Thin Ice focused on the lives
of teenage Olympic skaters in foreign countries, their hardships
and sacrifices for their homelands. Memories flooded back to
her from her own years on the circuit. As close as her father had
kept her, she still had known more freedom than her compatriots from some Eastern European and Asian countries. She and
Marc had often wondered what happened to athletes from those
places if they failed to bring home a medal. According to what
Doug had written about repercussions, their concerns back then
were probably well founded.

Lyn read for more than two hours. And in that time, she reconnected with the man under the angel wings. The man who'd
awakened her from a decades-long self-imposed exile. Even
better, she discovered a reporter who genuinely cared about his
subject, whether it was a jockey without health insurance injured in a horse race or the son of a famous athlete trying to
crawl out from his father's shadow.

Even his one-on-one interview with a once-famous sports
star turned heroin addict and convicted felon portrayed a pitiable man tortured by personal demons. There was no judgment,
no chastisement. Just the bare facts about an athlete who'd
stumbled and now spent his days reflecting on his former glory
while repaying his debt to society.

Every one of Doug's articles featured heart, grit, and the
truth behind the not-always-so-glamorous lives of his subjects.
He didn't sensationalize his stories, didn't manipulate those he
interviewed to make them look foolish or portray them in a bad light. This was the man she'd come to know, the man she'd
fallen for. His words reached through the computer to mend the
cracks in her heart.

Was it possible she'd misjudged him? That he hadn't simply
romanced her for a story? How could she know for sure?

One last article remained, All Heroes Great and Small. But
the date. The date terrified Lyn. Because this article was printed
in The Sportsman's online e-zine-surprise!-yesterday. Her
index finger tapped aimlessly on the corner of the mouse.

Oh, God. Did she really want to see this?

Yes.

On a sharp intake of breath, she began to read.

Giles Markham sat poised on the brink of mega-stardom.
With a Heisman Trophy on his mantel and a Sugar Bowl win on
his resume, he had a bevy of teams ready to launch his professional football career. But Giles chose a different route. At
the age of twenty-two, he enlisted in the U.S. Army. After basic
training, he hit the ground in some of the fiercest battlegrounds
in Iraq....

The article continued, recounting in graphic detail Doug's
arrival in Markham's unit, the hardships he and the unit faced,
and finally, the fatal Humvee accident.

Lyn's stomach clenched as she read the next few sentences:
the laughter seconds before the explosion, the Humvee's tumble, and the silent blackness Doug experienced. Knowing him
so well, she sensed the pain he must have felt as he told of
waking up in a foreign hospital, surrounded by strangers,
hooked up to machines that beeped and blinked and terrified
him. She burst into tears again; this time she wept for Doug,
not because of him.

... If not for some very dedicated people, that might have
been the end of my story-and my life. But I was lucky. Without my knowledge, or even my cooperation, family and friends
enrolled me in Ski-Hab, a program for disabled soldiers.
There, I met a host of new heroes....

Although he used no names, Doug managed to clearly convey the personalities of each of his classmates, the members
of the therapy team, and Kerri-Sue through colorful narrative and affectionate nicknames like Lance Corporal Bride-to-Be
and PFC Future Lawyer. He even included a full rundown on
the founder's past military and rehabilitation history, then concluded with the town's desire to give back to their first Gulf War
hero. He overlooked no one. Well, almost no one.

In fact, one person remained conspicuously absent from his
detailed article. Her.

Of course, her cynical brain reminded her, he might have
simply edited out all details that referenced her after what had
happened at Richie's house. A cold wetness hit her elbow, and
she flinched, then looked down at Ginger's warm brown eyes.

"You're thinking I'm selling him short, aren't you?" She
scratched Ginger behind the ears. The dog, naturally, said nothing, but she lay her chin on Lyn's lap. "I don't suppose you know
what my next move should be, do you?"

Ginger didn't utter a sound.

On a sigh, Lyn stood. "God, I'm losing my mind." The clock
on the far wall glowed 6:58 P.m. Time for her daily press monitoring. The seven o'clock gossip shows were about to start.

She dragged herself away from the computer and turned
back to Ginger. "You coming?"

The dog, now lying on the terra-cotta tile floor, placed her
head on her front paws.

"Okay," Lyn said. "Your loss."

She picked up the remote control, turned on the television,
then flipped to the channel she needed. A popular muckraker
popped on the screen in full HDTV. Once she settled on the
couch, she managed to sit through twenty minutes of airhead
journalism and inane commercials with no tense moments.
Thank God. The furor was dying down. Soon she could go
home.

The idea, however, didn't thrill her the way it should. What
did she have to go home to? A nice business, a gossipy neighbor,
a few ski runs in the winter.

Alone. Always alone.

She cast a glance at Ginger. She'd miss her new friend. Maybe,
when she finally did go home, she'd look into a greyhound rescue of her own. She'd have to do the research first, make sure the idea was feasible in a bed-and-breakfast. How would a greyhound react to a steady stream of strangers?

"And finally, tonight," the show's blond, vapid host said,
"from the `Where in the World Are the Raine Girls?' file, we
caught up with April and Dr. Jeff in Manhattan, shopping for
the perfect wedding venue...."

The gossip show cut away from the studio to breezy city
streets where April snuggled against Jeff and answered questions shouted out from passersby. A gaggle of microphones
bounced near her face, but she never lost her step or faltered.
The whole scene was ludicrous. April drew the crowds, reeled
them in with romantic looks and lots of giggles.

To keep them far away from where Lyn hid here in this
house.

Thank you, April.

Always the brave one, her older sister. Unlike Lyn, who
huddled here like a scared rabbit. Or a coward.

What had happened to Brooklyn Raine? Where was the
woman who'd conquered mountains all over the world? Had
she really become so timid?

April's advice ran through her head once again. You don't
just take a chance when you play Monopoly, kiddo.

And you couldn't find love in games of solitaire either.

Suddenly, Lyn knew exactly what she wanted. She just had
to find the courage to take the chance.

Early the next morning, Lyn sat in the kitchen, a cup of coffee to her left and a bowl of rough-cut oatmeal on her right.
For about the hundredth time so far, her focus strayed to the
numerals glowing orange on the stainless steel microwave. Not
quite seven o'clock. Still too early to call Brenda. She tapped a
teaspoon against her cup. Tink-tink-tink.

Ginger, curled into a canine comma against the bank of
cabinets, jerked up her head.

"Sorry," Lyn whispered to the greyhound. "Go back to sleep.
It's too early to be awake yet."

But, of course, Ginger didn't speak English. All she knew
was that the human was up and she was up. Therefore, it must
be time for a walk. She unfolded her long legs and stood, then
trotted to the utility closet. One glance at Lyn, then a glance at
the closed door before she sat and waited. Another glance.
More waiting.

Lyn resisted for a full five minutes before the dog's soulful
pleading eyes finally proved too much. "Well." She gave an
exaggerated sigh and rose slowly to her feet. "It's not like I can
call Brenda yet, anyway. Let's do it, girl."

As if the dog understood, she leaped to her feet, grin wide
and long pink tongue lolling. Lyn strode to the closet to grab the
leash. While Ginger pranced around her, she slipped into her
coat. With the leash clamped on the dog's collar, they exited
the house.

Dawn tinged the gray eastern sky with ribbons of mauve.
Morning temperatures, barely above freezing, made puffy
clouds from her breath as Ginger led her in a gallop around the neighborhood. She used the solitude to jump-start her brain
and review her plan. So many variables, so many things that
could go wrong. Adrenaline dripped into her veins, tingling
her skin and energizing her mind. She'd make this work, cover
every angle, face the challenge, take the chance.

When they returned to the townhouse, Lyn hung up her
coat and stowed the leash, then strode into the kitchen. And
paused in front of the microwave. The clock glowed 8:58 A.M.
Really? They'd been gone for an hour? Apparently, she'd
been so absorbed in her thoughts, she'd completely lost track
of time.

The upside? She could now call Brenda. After fixing a fresh
cup of coffee for caffeinated fortitude, she picked up the cell
phone, found Brenda in the contacts list-not too difficult since
she was the only number listed-and hit the green PHONE button to connect her call. Two rings went by.

"Thank you for calling Rainey-Day-Wife. How can I make
your burden easier today?"

Easier? Hardly. Lyn's burden was about to become Herculean. "Brenda? It's Lyn. Brooklyn. April's sister?" God, she
sounded like a moron.

"Lyn? Everything okay?"

"Yeah." For the next three seconds or so. After that, well,
the jury was out. She swallowed her fear and plowed on. "I've
been thinking, and I know this is last minute. I hope it's okay.
But..." The words came out in a rush. "Iwanttogohome."

Brenda sucked in a breath sharp enough to pierce Lyn's eardrum. "Oh, sweetie, I'm not sure that's such a good idea. I
mean, April's doing a great job of keeping the press occupied,
but the reporters are still hanging around outside your inn.
You show up now-"

"I show up now, and they're going to have to deal with me."
The words came out strong and sure. You go, girl. "Bren, I
know April told you to take care of me and, honestly, I'm grateful. But it's time for me to stop hiding. From the press, from
life." From love. But she kept that last one to herself. "The only
thing that worries me is that I know this totally screws you up
with Ginger, and I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Brenda replied with a chuckle. "Ginger's regular
caregiver will be thrilled to have her back. But are you sure?"

"Yes."