He's Still The One

Her parents had divorced. Zoe hadn’t wanted to listen to their explanations of why. All she knew was that her comfortable family life had been destroyed. With her father moving to California, and Kate and Ryan married and living in Philadelphia, Zoe had been left alone that summer to deal with her emotionally wrought mother and her own feelings of abandonment.

It had taken many months before Zoe had been able to have a cool but cordial relationship with her father. She was afraid to trust her feelings, afraid of being hurt again. She might have aged ten years, but she didn’t feel any differently today than she had back then. And Ryan O’Connor was a life-size reminder of all she had lost.

“Well, so much for clearing the air between us.” With all the energy she could muster, Zoe brushed past Ryan and calmly walked out of the kitchen, through the living room where Kate and Alec were now cuddled on the couch and out the front door.

She paused at the end of the walkway and turned around. Ryan stood silhouetted in the doorway. Zoe started walking, not expecting, but hoping he’d call out, or come after her and finally admit, after all these years, that he’d been wrong. With a heavy heart, Zoe trudged down the street. The wind had picked up and Zoe was certain she heard it whisper, “little coward,” as it swept past her.

When she came to the street corner she stopped, gazed around and realized she had nowhere to go except home. Not New York, but the cozy bungalow on the aptly named Division Street, filled with memories she’d prefer not to deal with.

Ryan rested his forehead against the closed door. “You sure bungled that one.”

Ten years ago, Ryan had given up the right to call Zoe a friend. When he’d acted rashly following his parents’ deaths, and his elopement with Kate certainly was rash, he hadn’t been thinking of anyone but himself. Of anything but his anger, his hurt, his pain. Zoe’s feelings never entered into any equation.

And he’d regret that the rest of his life.

But no matter how all grown-up Zoe was, there was no way he was getting involved with her. She was practically his little sister! No matter how strong the temptation, she was, he decided firmly, off-limits.

There had been several women in his life. He was, after all, a normal healthy man with a normal, healthy sex drive. But he hadn’t allowed himself to get close to any one woman emotionally for any length of time. He wasn’t proud his emotional barriers flashed a red alert whenever a relationship looked like it might get too serious.

The excuse was always the same. He was a vice cop. His life was dangerous. He couldn’t ask anyone he cared for to share the uncertainties. Except he wasn’t a vice cop any longer. His life wasn’t filled with danger or uncertainties.

Still, he wasn’t ready to dive into any depth of emotional waters. He wasn’t afraid, just wary of not being able to live up to someone else’s expectations. It was hard enough, he thought with a frown, to live up to his own.

He turned to find Kate standing in the archway, worry written all over her face.

“Your talk with Zoe cut short?”

“How could you forget to tell Zoe I’m the best man.”

“Oops.” She shrugged slightly. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“It’s a big deal to Zoe. You deliberately didn’t tell her.”

Kate winced. “I had hoped to ease into it. That was before you locked her in jail.”

Ryan wisely decided to ignore that last comment. “Were you going to pull her aside moments before the wedding ceremony began and say, ‘See that guy in the black tux? He’s our best man and you’re walking down the aisle with him. You recognize him? That’s Ryan O’Connor. Your ex-best friend.”’

“Yes.”

“Not funny, Kate.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny. I’m still waiting for you to promise you’ll get along with Zoe over the next two weeks.”

When he didn’t respond she poked him in the chest. “Promise.”

He nodded curtly. “I’ll do my part. You might want to remind her it takes two to end a war.”

“Zoe understands,” Kate said with exaggerated patience. “You just don’t know her the way I do. She feels things differently than you or I do.”

“I’m not even going to begin to try and make sense out of that statement.” He glanced at his watch. “I need to check in at the station. And, Kate, remember that Zoe and I are like oil and water. We no longer mix. And I have no intention of getting involved with her. So don’t play matchmaker. It will just blow up in all our faces.”

Ryan heard the click of the door close behind him, and a few murmured words between Kate and Alec before the porch light flicked on ostensibly for Zoe’s return. He reached into his pocket for his cell phone, punched the three-digit code that immediately connected him with the police station. Once the night dispatcher assured him all was quiet, he hurried down the walkway, turned right and stood on the sidewalk in front of the house next door. The house that had once been his home. And would be again.

He stared intently at the For Sale sign, remembering how he’d seen it shortly after he’d returned to Riverbend six months ago. Winding his way through the backyard, Ryan found the garden of roses his mother had so lovingly tended. He was foolishly pleased to see them still in bloom.

A rustling sound in the bushes behind him put Ryan on alert and he quickly raced to the front yard. And was surprised to see Zoe standing on the sidewalk. Her face, lit by the light of the moon, looked troubled.

Ryan settled on the top step that led to the front porch. And remembered his promise to Kate. “Join me,” he invited, and when she did, he didn’t fail to notice she kept as much distance between them as she could.

“I really don’t want to talk to you.”

He heard the firmness in her voice. “Fine. We’ll just sit here quietly.”

“I always wanted to live in your house.”

Ryan was smart enough not to ask why. He remembered all the shouting coming from the house next door, the slamming doors, her mother crying. “I’m just remembering the first time we met.” He chuckled. “Even back then you left a strong impression.”

He’d plopped down onto the window seat and was gazing into the yard next door where a pixielike red-haired girl, partially hidden by a gnarled oak tree, watched him from her bedroom window, a curious look on her face.

“I was just happy, thinking I now had someone new to play with,” she said dryly. “And was crushed you were a boy.”

She’d climbed onto one of the thick tree limbs and when their gazes connected, they played a silent game of stare down until she unexpectedly laughed, then disappeared from view.

“I panicked when I realized you’d fallen out of the tree.”

“My pride was bruised and battered,” she said.

“And you never shed a tear.”

“I was afraid to cry,” she told him. “If my parents had heard us, they’d know I’d climbed into the tree. I was certain the next time I saw that tree it would be as firewood.”

Then she laughed. “But the next morning you made a real impression when you lost control of Webster, and he crash-landed into my wading pool.”

“It was always a toss-up as to who owned who,” Ryan said, remembering the day his golden retriever puppy had plopped into the swimming pool. Eight-year-old Zoe, buried beneath twenty-plus pounds of dog, had cried, not because she was hurt, but because she was worried that Webster had been injured.

His expression darkened as he recalled another day, the one when he’d buried his parents in the cemetery around the corner and then came to defiantly hammer a For Sale sign, much like the one in the yard now, into the ground. Webster’s loud bark had accompanied each pound, until Zoe had come to the rescue of both man and dog, ordering him into the shower and taking Webster for a much needed walk.

From the doorway, he’d watched the two of them flash down the street, wishing he could always be with them, with her, with anyone, anywhere but in this house, alone.

A long silence stretched between them, until Zoe stood abruptly. “I’m sorry Truth or Dare got a bit out of hand.”

“Yeah.” He scrubbed his hands down his face. “It’s been a big-drama day for the both of us.”

Ryan watched as Zoe jogged across the yard and into the house. He slowly walked to the edge of the yard, stopping at the For Sale sign.

And for a moment, a brief moment, he wished he could turn back time.

Chapter Three

Ryan ran hard, the soles of his shoes slapping the pavement in tune with the irregular beat of his heart. Fast. He was running much too fast. His target managed to keep about one hundred yards ahead, just out of reach, then suddenly turned the corner. Ryan moderated his pace and by the time he reached the alley, he was breathing hard but steady. He drew his gun. There was no escape at the other end of the alley. He stepped forward, pivoted and aimed—into a suffocating deep-red mist. He coughed. Couldn’t breathe.

Something wet seeped through his canvas shoes, and he looked down to find himself standing in a puddle of blood. He couldn’t see his target. He couldn’t see Sean. But he saw a faint image of Zoe, heard her call his name, and watched as she helplessly reached out to him, her hands drenched in blood. What was she doing here? Her image dissolved into the mist. He heard a voice mock him. You’re too late. Too late.

A loud pop! jolted Ryan out of his chair. He’d closed his eyes for a moment and had been treated to a full-blown nightmare. He sprinted across his office to the lobby area of the police station he saw both his dispatcher and Jake standing in the entranceway shaking their heads.

Ryan went into his big-city detective mode. “What happened?” he demanded. “Anybody hurt? Why are you two standing there? Get outside and see what’s going on.”

Jake turned away from the door. “I know what’s going on. Henry Larkin’s car backfired again. Been ticketing him for more than a month now, telling him to get that muffler fixed.”

Ryan sucked in a deep breath, held it briefly before slowly exhaling. “Tell him the next time I hear or see his car I expect it to have a new muffler that sounds like a purring kitten, not like a round of fire from a sawed-off shotgun.”

He went back to his office and watched through the window as the eighty-year-old Henry Larkin waved in his direction and slowly drove around the square, his car halting, then backfiring every few hundred feet, a cloud of exhaust following its path.

He dropped into his chair, exhausted, which explained why he’d merely closed his eyes and drifted off. Sleep had been elusive last night. He’d risen with the sun. Taken a jog. Back at the apartment he’d stirred up the dust on the furniture. Still feeling restless, he’d showered, then driven around town aimlessly until he found himself at the police station. He’d decided to catch up on paperwork that was so boring, he’d fallen asleep in his chair.

He closed his eyes and called forth the memories of the first part of the dream. Minutes before sunrise he’d sat parked in front of the Russell house, waiting. Through the front window Zoe had seen him. She’d thrown open the front door, raced down the walkway and into his arms. They’d kissed. A kiss so light, so gentle, that it had him silently begging for more.

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