Saving Alyssa (Mills & Boon Heartwarming) (7 page)

“I'm meeting with the owner of Ike's Bikes.” She glanced across the street and saw Noah through the shop's huge window, leaning casually against the counter as he talked with a customer. “If it goes well, he'll hire me to design his website.”

“Noah?” Bud shook his head and whistled low. “Now, there's one eccentric dude.”

“What do you mean?”

“He can talk for half an hour straight without really saying anything. You know me—once a detective, always a detective. I looked him up to see if I could find out where he's from, what kind of work he did before moving here, what happened to his wife.” Bud shook his head again. “Came up empty. It's like he didn't exist before coming to Ellicott City.” Frowning, Billie's neighbor aimed a thick forefinger at her. “Just between you, me and the lamppost here, I'm guessing witness protection. But you keep that under your hat, you hear?”

Billie nodded. “Don't worry. My lips are sealed. I just want this job. If I get it, he'll be my hundredth client.”

“What do you mean, if? You're the best in the business, and half the shop owners on Main Street know it. And if Noah has talked to any of them—and I'm sure he has, if he's thinking about a website—he knows it, too.”

Bud's bright blue eyes narrowed. “That's how he heard about you, right? From one of his neighbors?”

“Actually, we met when I walked my bike to his shop for repairs. When I told him what I do for a living, it didn't seem like he hadn't heard it before.” She thought of everything the guy in Gucci clothes had said about Noah's overprotectiveness toward his little girl. Maybe Bud was on to something with his witness protection idea. “He seemed nice enough when he drove me home that day, so I wouldn't have to hike back up the hill.”

Bud glanced at her ankle. “Ah, right. The Great Cannondale Fall.” Then he met her eyes. “No need to look so worried. Just because a man keeps mostly to himself doesn't mean he's dangerous.” Her neighbor nodded toward the shop. “And anyway, if the way he takes care of his little girl is any indicator, I'd have to say he's good people.”

If that were true, why did he seem so secretive? And why did he only look relaxed and happy when Alyssa was around? “If you have time when you're through with him,” Bud said, walking backward toward his house, “stop by and I'll show you where I keep Inky's stuff.”

“Will do,” she said. The light changed again, and Billie crossed the street as a customer exited the bike shop.

“Saw you talking to Bud,” Noah said when she walked up to the counter. “From where I was standing, it looked like a pretty serious conversation.”

“He's having surgery next week, asked me to take care of his cat while he's hospitalized.”

“For what?”

“His doctor wants to insert stents in his heart.”

“That's the last thing I'd expected you to say. Bud seems healthy as a horse. Jogs everywhere.” Noah put down the wrench he'd been holding. “Plays a mean game of tennis, too.”

Well now, that was odd. Bud hadn't mentioned playing tennis with the bike mechanic. “I believe it. He keeps a treadmill, a weight bench and an exercise bike—the kind with handlebars that move—in the middle of his living room.”

She handed over the folder, and as Noah opened it, said, “That's just an overview, to give you an idea how I'll develop your site.” Billie almost tacked on
if I get the job,
but thought better of it.

He gave the proposal a cursory glance and slid it back into its pocket. He'd told her that he'd given up trying to build his own site, due to negligible computer skills. Hopefully, she hadn't jumped the gun, drafting it without first discussing it with him in more detail

She pointed at the big PC in the corner. “Is it already on?”

“Yeah....”

Billie pulled up her website, and as Noah looked over her shoulder, she explained how she'd built the others in her portfolio. She noticed that he exuded a clean, crisp scent that reminded her of the white soap her grandmother had been so fond of. He took a half step back. “Impressive. But you don't have to sell me. Your reputation precedes you. I trust you to give me my money's worth.”

Had one of their neighbors recommended her? Before she had a chance to ask which one, he picked up the wrench and walked to his workbench.

“When we spoke on the phone yesterday, you said something about watching me work. I don't get it, frankly, because really, there isn't much to see. I fix bikes. And sell them. But hey, it's your time.”

“I know it seems odd,” she said, following him past the twin rows of shiny new bikes that flanked the narrow aisle, the racks of cycling apparel and shoe displays. “But when I'm dealing with a service or a business that's new to me, watching helps me describe people's work ethic.”

Using the wrench, he pointed at several packages on the bench. “Those are the parts for your bike. You're welcome to hang around while I install them, but if you nod off from boredom, don't say you weren't warned.”

Warned, by a man who could very well be in hiding from a sinister past. A sense of unease settled around her as she tried to think up a reasonable excuse to leave.

Instead, she asked, “Do you ever rent bikes?”

“I keep a few that customers can borrow.”

“What about races and rides? Do you keep up with organizers, and send flyers to your customers?”

“Not as often as I should, but yeah, I do that from time to time.”

Billie jotted the information in her notebook. Good. She had already included those tabs in her proposal.

“Do you participate in the rides?”

“Can't,” he said without looking up. “Alyssa doesn't ride.”

Billie should have known. And the always-protective dad probably wouldn't consider hiring a sitter so that he could.

She looked around the shop, where brick walls and exposed overhead ductwork gave the place an industrial feel. There wasn't a single fingerprint on the glass-and-steel cabinets that housed tidy rows of goggles and sunglasses, gloves and mitts, bike locks and lights. Normally, orderliness calmed her. Today it did not, because in every mystery she'd read, the bad guys were obsessive, compulsive and dangerous.

“Thought you wanted to watch.”

The suddenness of his question startled her. “I—I am watching.”

“Uh-huh. Everything but the bike repair. Not that I blame you. But I told you this would be boring.”

“Oh, trust me. I'm anything but bored.”

One eyebrow quirked, and Billie would have sworn he'd ask for an explanation. Instead, Noah got back to work.

“There's a stereo in my office. I work faster to music. How 'bout sliding in a CD?”

A hint that she could leave? In one second, Billie considered doing just that. In the next, she decided against it. Maybe, with time and patience, she'd learn something about him that made sense.

It was easy, picking up on his cue, and just as easy finding a CD, because he'd alphabetized the cases. Billie chose an Eagles collection, popped it into the disk changer and turned up the volume until the music reached the speakers she'd seen out front.

On the way back to his workstation, Billie passed an apartment-sized kitchen that boasted a fifties-style fridge and stove, and a worn enamel sink, the obvious victim of one too many scourings. On the chrome soap dish beside the gooseneck faucet, she spotted a bar of Ivory, the source of the clean, fresh scent she'd inhaled earlier from Noah.

Across the room, he'd set up a play area for Alyssa. An oversize leather beanbag chair. A child-sized pink plastic kitchen. A stocky shelving unit filled with books, stuffed animals and an assortment of Barbie dolls. And under it all, a colorful patchwork rug to warm the tile-over-concrete floor.

A strange, forlorn mood enveloped Billie as she wondered if her own little girl would have played with toys like these. And with it, sympathy for the man who'd been forced by sad circumstance to raise his child alone.

She slid onto the stool near his workbench, wondering how he'd lost his wife.

“What are you,” he mumbled around the mini flashlight between his teeth, “sixteen?”

Billie frowned slightly. “Um, what?”

He met her eyes long enough to say, “Turn down that music, will ya?” And focusing on the Cannondale again, he added, “Either that or grab my earplugs. I keep some in the top right-hand drawer of my desk, so I can concentrate when Alyssa is watching cartoons and I'm trying to balance the books.”

Billie remembered her dad complaining when she or the twins turned the TV up too loudly. Rather than scold his daughter, Noah had found a way to deal with the noise. Yet another reason to like this quiet, sad-eyed man. “Wouldn't it be easier just to let her watch upstairs?”

He stopped working, leaned an elbow on a bent knee and looked at Billie for what seemed a full minute. “You're not the first to accuse me of being overprotective, and you won't be the last.”

“Sorry,” she said, backpedaling toward the office. “I'll just turn down the music.”

Why did she care where he'd lived before moving to Maryland, or how he'd lost his wife? And what difference did it make if he spoiled his daughter or not?

It mattered, she acknowledged, because she'd seen that sad-eyed, distant expression a hundred times...in her own mirror. Had she finally met someone who understood what loss could do to a person?

“Help yourself to a soda,” he called out.

She was about to say, “Thanks, but no thanks,” when he added, “Grab one for me while you're at it, will ya?” A second, perhaps two passed before he said, “Please?”

Billie was only too happy to oblige. She didn't understand why she felt an overpowering desire to take care of this man.

Their fingers touched briefly as she handed him the root beer, and when he held her gaze, she repressed the urge to finger-comb the lock of hair that had fallen over his eye. If she had any sense at all, she'd leave right now, before she did or said something she'd regret.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“S
O
 
HOW
'
S
 
IT
 
COMING
?”
she asked Noah.

“I should be finished in—”

His cell phone rang, cutting him off. He answered, and Billie discovered something they had in common: a tendency to pace while on the phone. He stood near the store entrance, nodding and muttering something she couldn't make out from this distance. One thing was certain. The person on the other end hadn't delivered good news.

“It's Alyssa,” he said, clicking off. “School nurse thinks she's coming down with something.”

“Hope it isn't serious.”

“Doesn't sound like it. But this time of year, her allergies make her miserable.” He walked toward the back room. “The symptoms mimic a head cold, so even though she isn't contagious, it's better to err on the side of caution.”

Billie followed, and watched him scrub all traces of the bike's grease and grime from his hands—and then from the bar of soap.

“I wonder if you'd do me a huge favor,” he said over one shoulder, “and stick around until I get back with Alyssa. I'm expecting a delivery. One of those ‘it goes back to the factory if you miss it' kinda things.” Facing her, he dried his hands. “I know it's an imposition, so if you can't, I understand.”

“It's not a problem.” Any parent would look concerned after a call from the school nurse, but Noah looked
afraid,
and that didn't make sense. “It's what neighbors do, right?”

Her words did little to ease the fear in his eyes, heightening the need she felt to comfort him.

“I shouldn't be gone more than half an hour.” He grabbed his keys and opened the door. “I owe ya one, kid,” he said, and then he was gone.

Kid? Troy and Todd had called her kid for as long as she could remember. She didn't like thinking that, like her brothers, Noah saw her as someone to be protected. Didn't like it at all. Billie looked for something else to focus on. Such as how large the package might be, or where the delivery guy should put it. Noah hadn't told her what to do if any customers came into the shop, either.

The bell above the entrance chimed, and in walked Jeff Graham. He must have ridden his bike here, because today he wore moisture-wicking cycling gear instead of the head-to-toe Gucci garb he'd worn on the day they'd met.

“Billie, right?” he said.

“Right. I was here gathering information to develop a website for Noah when the school nurse called. He's expecting a delivery, and asked me to stick around until he got back.”

“Ah.”

He didn't have to say more; his knowing expression made it clear that he thought there was more to it than that. And it was her own fault for giving him more information than he'd asked for.

“Was he expecting you?”

Jeff shook his head. “No, I just stopped in to see if he had any elbow pads.” He showed her his. “These are about shot.”

He wasn't exaggerating. “I think he has some in the display case,” she said, pointing.

And there it was again, that “something's going on” expression.

Jeff peered through the countertop. “Yeah. Those are perfect.” He leaned a padded elbow on the glass. “How's the ankle?”

“Almost back to normal. Amazing what following doctor's orders—and having a sit-down job—will accomplish.”

“Speaking of which, I should hook you up with my wife. She writes articles, mostly, but her first novel is about to come out. Her agent and publisher have been bugging her to make a website, but with two kids underfoot, she hasn't had time.”

Billie never went anywhere without business cards. Opening her purse, she took one out and handed it to him.

He gave it a passing glance and tucked it into a zippered pocket on the front of his shirt. “So tell me, what do you think of Noah, now that you know him better?”

“I don't know how to answer that, since I've only spent an hour or so, total, with him. He seems nice enough, I guess.”

“You guess?” Jeff snapped his fingers. “Darn. I was hoping you could fill in some of the blanks.”

He'd made several pointed observations about Noah's reserved and overprotective tendencies. Was he referring to those now?

“Blanks?”

Jeff straightened, tugged at the snug sleeves of his Lycra shirt. “Like how his wife died. Where he lived before moving to Maryland. What he did for a living before buying Ike's Bikes. Why he never lets that kid out of his sight, except when she's in school. I've been doing business with him for years, but I don't know any more about him now than when I first walked into this shop.”

Bud had said pretty much the same thing. Proof that the article she'd read in
Cosmo,
claiming that men were every bit as nosy as women, had been correct? Or evidence that Noah had something to hide?

A knock at the back door interrupted the conversation.

Billie was halfway there when Jeff said, “So there really was a delivery.”

She pretended not to hear him, mostly because she had no idea how to respond.

The delivery guy deposited a steamer trunk-sized carton near the back door, then thundered across the deck and down the wooden steps leading to Noah's parking pad. Billie returned to the front and tore a sheet of blank paper from Noah's spiral notebook.

“I'll leave a message here,” she told Jeff, “for Noah to get in touch with you about the elbow pads.”

Billie had no sooner started writing when she saw Noah come in through the back door, carrying his sleepy-eyed, yawning little girl.

“Ah,” he said, putting Alyssa into her beanbag chair. He popped a movie into the DVD player and added, “I see the package came while I was gone. Thanks for being here to sign for it.” When he entered the shop moments later, he said, “She'll be asleep before the theme song ends.”

That's when he noticed Jeff, leaning on the counter. The men exchanged a friendly greeting.

“She just saved you from losing a customer,” Jeff said, nodding hello to Jeff. “I'd say you owe Billie, here, dinner out to show your appreciation.”

She could feel Jeff's eyes on them, assessing the relationship as he waited for a response from Noah.

“That won't be necessary, ” Billie said. “It's what any neighbor would do.” She gestured toward Jeff. “Mr. Graham needs elbow pads, like the ones he's wearing.”

“Mr. Graham?” Jeff echoed. “You make me sound like a doddering old man. Do me a favor. Call me Jeff, okay?”

Noah slapped a package of pads onto the counter as his cell phone rang. As soon as he answered it, his expression changed, and so did his tone of voice.

“You're kidding,” he grated into the phone. “When?” Then, seeing Jeff and Billie watching him, he pressed the mute button. “I need to take this,” he said, and hurried out the back door.

“See?” Jeff said. “Stuff like that makes me curious as all get-out.”

“You know what happened to the cat....”

“What cat?” And then he nodded. “Oh. The one curiosity killed.” Chuckling, he patted the seat of his bike pants. “Didn't bring my wallet,” he said. “I just stopped in to see if Noah had some in stock. Just tell him to set those aside for me. I'll swing by here tomorrow and pick them up.”

There wasn't a thing she could do out front, so Billie returned to the back room, where Alyssa drowsed in her chair. Billie knelt beside the child and placed a palm to her forehead.

“Well, you don't feel warm,” she said. “That's a good thing.”

“I hate it when Daddy does that.”

“Does what?”

The girl pointed at Noah, visible through the glass patio door leading to the deck.

“Walks back and forth, back and forth. It reminds me of the way the lions and tigers walk back and forth in their cages at the zoo.” She hugged her lop-eared bunny tighter. “And it makes me sad.”

Billie hadn't wanted to like Noah, and didn't want to like his kid, either. “I pace when I'm on the phone, too. It's nothing to be sad about,” she said, standing. “I'm sure it just means he's concentrating on a problem with an order, or trying not to lose his temper with a dissatisfied customer.”

Alyssa studied her face for a moment, then looked back at the TV screen, where a passel of kids had gathered in Julie Andrews's big ornate bed.

“Do you cry at night, too?”

Cry at night...
too?
“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes Daddy does. He leaves his door open so he can hear me if
I
cry. But I don't. At least, not anymore.” She met Billie's eyes. “You, too?”

“I suppose everyone cries themselves to sleep once in a while.” Had Alyssa grown up, just enough to stop missing her mother? Was Noah still mourning his wife? Was
that
why he cried at night? If Alyssa could hear him from down the hall...

Billie shook off the sadness the questions roused. “What can I get for you? More juice? A snack? A book?”

When Alyssa met her eyes again, Billie wondered what the child had seen and survived, to explain the penetrating, too-old-for-her-age expression.

She held up her empty juice box, and as Billie took it, she said, “You're very pretty.”

Billie was about to thank her when she tacked on, “Not as pretty as my mommy, but very pretty.”

“You know,” Billie said, handing her a fresh juice box, “I feel the same way about my mom.” As Alyssa unwrapped the tiny straw, she added, “So how do you like third grade?” She extended her hand, and Alyssa put the cellophane into it.

“It's okay, but I liked second grade better.”

“Because there's less homework?”

“Oh, no. I like homework. But I liked Mrs. Kuchar better than Miss Woods.”

“Oh?”

Frowning slightly, she sipped the juice. “Miss Woods is always in a hurry. I don't think she likes children all that much.”

“What makes you say that?”

“She has
no
patience. We're seven,” Alyssa said, “not fifteen. Sometimes we're loud, sometimes we're messy, sometimes we don't do what we're told the very first time.”

“You're very perceptive,” Billie admitted. Too perceptive, she thought, especially for one so young. According to Jeff, Noah rarely let Alyssa play with other kids, and even then, only when he supervised. So had she been born insightful, or had spending so many hours alone with Noah made her that way?

“My head hurts,” Alyssa said. “I need an allergy pill. Could you get me one?”

The question took Billie off guard, and she said, “I think you need to wait for your dad to come back.”

“Oh, don't worry. They aren't the kind of pills that come from the doctor. They're just the grocery store kind. Daddy won't mind if you give me one.”

“Still...doling out medicine is his job.”

Her lower lip began to tremble. “He would have given me one by now. But he's on the phone. Again. He could be out there for an hour. He does this all the time!” And then she started to cry.

Billie had always been a sucker for weeping children. Infants, toddlers, kindergarten kids... They were little for such a short time, and she couldn't stand to hear them suffer. It seemed a shame to let Alyssa get more upset, especially when it would only exacerbate her symptoms, and the problem could be solved so easily.

“Hold on a sec, sweetie. I'll ask your dad.”

“Please don't interrupt him. He hates to be interrupted!”

Billie dismissed the child's protests. She couldn't imagine a father as indulgent as Noah making his daughter wait to take medication that would relieve her discomfort. Billie hurried to the back door and opened it a crack. Based solely on his angry expression, it wasn't a pleasant conversation. He stood still long enough to glance at her, and went back to pacing. Alyssa wasn't kidding when she'd said he didn't like interruptions. But what choice did she have?

“Alyssa says she has a headache,” Billie whispered, “and that you won't mind if I give her an allergy pill.”

He shot her an impatient frown, as if to say, “Can't you see I'm on the phone?”

Billie felt a tad angry herself. He hadn't been in there, listening to Alyssa cry. She stared him down and, in a louder voice, repeated, “She says you won't mind if I give her an allergy pill.”

He rolled his eyes, then covered the mouthpiece. “Okay. Fine. Whatever.”

She let the door close on its own. If the slam disturbed him, well,
okay, fine, whatever!
“You're in luck,” she told Alyssa. “He said it's okay to give you a pill.”

The little girl smiled. “They're on the top shelf of the cabinet above the sink,” she said. “You're not tall enough to reach it. There's a stool beside the refrigerator.”

Billie climbed up, and as she got hold of the small, rectangular box, Alyssa added, “I can't wait to get bigger. I can't even reach them when I use the stool!”

“Mmm-hmm,” she said, distracted by the directions. One tablet every four to six hours for children twenty-three to thirty-six pounds. “Good grief,” she grumbled. How were parents supposed to make a rational decision about dosage when it could come down to ounces?

“How much do you weigh, Alyssa?”

“Last time I saw Dr. Anderson, I was forty-one pounds. He doesn't know why I'm small for my age, because my mommy was very tall, and so's daddy.”

Billie froze, remembering Jeff's earlier question about how Noah's wife had died.

Frowning, she popped one lavender tablet from its foil-and-plastic package and pictured her own mother...somewhat intrusive, slightly bossy, but always well-meaning. Crazy and juvenile as it seemed, Billie wished her mom could live forever, because life just wouldn't be the same without her. Would she feel this way if she'd lost her at age four?