Rock Solid

Hannah nodded. “I was surprised to hear about his accident, though he seems to be recovering. Still, he does seem...off.”

“He is. Anyway, I’m sorry I thought you were another, well, you know...”

“Oh, I know. Believe me. There was someone here this morning, then that pie was dropped off by another young woman, and a few phone messages since... I thought you were, um, a female friend, as well.”

Brandi rolled her eyes. “It’s as though they come out of the walls. You’d think they would lose interest since he retired, but it’s been even worse. I guess they all want to be the one who finally snags him. The one who brings Wild Brody Palmer to heel. It didn’t help that one of the reporters let leak something about him wanting to settle down.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.”

Brandi grinned. “Believe me, if there’s anyone less likely to settle down on this earth, it’s Brody. I don’t even know why he retired. At first we were glad. It was getting hard on my parents, watching him take his life in his hands every day. Whenever there’s a crash, we all hold our breath, you know?”

Hannah did know. Being at the track was exciting, but it had also been frightening, watching what he did for a living.

“But he’s not happy, especially since his accident,” Brandi added with a sigh. “Maybe you’ll have better luck at getting him to say what’s been bothering him.”

“It is hard to imagine him no longer racing. Didn’t he and Reece talk about owning their own car, having their own driver?”

Brandi shrugged. “Maybe, but Reece has settled into the winery, and Brody’s never been one to sit back and watch.”

That sounded exactly like Brody, and it made Hannah wonder, too: Why had he retired? He’d never talked about it when they were together, except to say “in the future” or “in time.” Retirement had been forced on Reece because of a horrific accident on the track. That hadn’t been the case for Brody.

Unless there was something none of them knew. Was he keeping a secret? Was he sick? Worse?

Hannah’s mind reeled with new, awful possibilities. Something so serious that he wouldn’t want to tell his family or friends? And that was why he was so surly?

“Anyway, whatever you have on the stove there smells great.”

“Thanks. Just some sauce and pasta,” Hannah responded, still distracted—and even more worried—by her dire thoughts. “Would you like some?”

“It’s nice of you to offer—Brody said you were nice—but I have to get home to my son. I’ll catch up with Brody tomorrow. Good to have met you, Hannah.”

“Same here.”

Brandi left through the back door and Hannah had her dinner alone. She distracted herself by working on her writing and enjoying a bottle of wine. By the end of the evening, she was deflated by the fact that no one was responding to the blog. She hadn’t taken any pictures that day, and Brody was nowhere to be found. For the first time since being in New York, she didn’t have anything new to post.

Brody said you were nice.

Nice. Bland. Boring.

Like her photos.

Maybe she should call her blog Hannah’s Lack of Adventure.

As she stood and paced, she noticed a display case on the far side of the room. There were trophies and awards, of course, from his racing, and pictures of Brody with various celebrities, friends, and even one with a US president. A scale model of almost every car he’d raced sat on a shelf.

There was a section of the wall devoted to these shelves. Mostly family pictures and personal items. Brody, she assumed, as a boy with his father, holding up a huge fish. His enormous, toothy grin made her chuckle. He must have been around seven, she guessed.

Hannah had been ten when her father died, and she still felt a slight, dull pain when she thought about it. He’d been a good man and the moon and the stars to her. Her dad had been the kind of solid, dependable man she’d hoped to find for herself. He’d farmed his land, provided for them and worked part-time at the local feed store in summer to earn extra income.

She remembered him as always being happy and laughing, telling her to work hard and do what was right. Those words had stood by her when he’d had a fatal heart attack, and there was no way she and her mother could keep the farm. So Hannah had done the right thing and worked diligently to support herself and her mother as soon as she was able.

She reached out, touching the picture of Brody with his dad. He’d never said anything about his family, which made sense. Theirs was a particular kind of relationship.

Not a relationship at all, really.

There were also some scouting badges—another surprise—and several sports awards, including high school baseball and college swimming trophies. On a table near that display were pictures of Brody in mountain-climbing gear with a group of people all clearly celebrating some sort of victory, and one of him...surfing?

And there were pictures of a very young Brody by a race car—his first one? He had to be only twenty or so.

She’d only known him as a champion driver, but clearly there was a lot more to the man. He’d done and accomplished a lot. She looked at some of the framed news articles and magazine covers. Words that came up often were things like brash, risky, and pushing the edge.

Brody said you were nice.

What did Hannah have to put on her walls? Her diplomas, certainly, and she was proud of those, along with her certified public accountant recognition. She had some pictures from school—mainly her and Abby and a few other friends having fun in Ithaca and at the senior dance. A few 4-H awards from the local fair. Not that she was ashamed of any of those moments—she held them dear, in fact—but in her thirty years, what else had she managed to accomplish?

Her work had been her focus. Creating the stable, perfect future that she had always planned on. She’d be thirty-one in a few months, and she had no job, husband, kids or house.

And here she was, cleaning Brody’s place and making him dinner and wondering why everyone, even the strangers on her blog, only thought of her as nice.

Maybe it was time to do something that wasn’t so nice? Something daring and un-Hannah-like.

The question was...what?

* * *

BRODY’S HEAD FELL back against the headrest of the seat when he saw Hannah’s car still in his driveway. Man, she was stubborn. And caring, warm, generous, gorgeous, sexy, funny... Brody bit off a curse, making himself stop there.

He didn’t want to lie to her. If he’d been a bad bet before, he wasn’t anyone Hannah would be interested in now. She needed security, stability. He’d never been a poster child for either quality, but that was especially true at the moment.

He could only think of one way to convince her to go. It was dangerous, but it was his only play, really. Entering the house through the back door, he stopped short for a second, taking in the gleaming counters and lack of clutter. Something smelled mouthwatering, and his gaze traveled to the pot still on the stove. There was a pie on the counter and he walked over to read a note next to it—“Jenna dropped this off.”

Brody shook his head, and then he checked the messages blinking on the phone in the kitchen. He kept the landline precisely so he could screen calls like this; only friends and family used his cell number. He winced, thinking about Hannah overhearing the messages, especially the last one.

Since the nightclub story, he’d gotten several offers like that. Weekly.

Speaking of Hannah, where was she?

“Hannah?”

He walked farther into the house and discovered her sitting on his sofa, quiet, staring at her laptop. There was a bottle of wine—half-finished—and an empty glass on the table next to her. When he came in, she just looked up at him.

“Oh, hi,” she said, her brow furrowed as she turned her attention back to the computer screen.

That was all.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“No. I’m boring.”

Brody didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t that. He assumed she’d be ticked off or concerned or whatever, but this threw him. So he went over and sat next to her, and saw on the screen, a page about...

“Why are you reading about alligator wrestling?”

“Because it’s exciting and crazy, and risky. Meaning, all of the things I’m not. A decent photojournalist needs to take risks. So I found this place that teaches people to alligator wrestle, and it’s not far from here. Do you know about it?”

“Hold on a second. You mean you’re actually considering learning how to wrestle an alligator?” Brody’s tone was incredulous, but he couldn’t help it.

Wait. Photojournalist? Hannah was an accountant. Wasn’t she?

“How much wine did you have, Hannah?”

“Only a few glasses. See, on the website, they take you through it step-by-step. Here’s a picture of a woman doing it, so it’s not just for men,” Hannah said, pointing.

Brody looked at the screen. “She’s twice your size—and a game warden, according to the caption, Hannah. Have you ever seen a real alligator?”

“No, but I have to do something, and soon. You can’t help me, and people aren’t going to look at my blog for pretty pictures of ocean waves or... Hey, wait. Do people surf down here? There are sharks, right?”

Brody put up a hand, interrupting her. “Let’s back up a few steps. One, why do you think you’re boring? Two, why are you trying to commit suicide by wildlife? And three, what’s this about being a photojournalist?”

She took a deep breath and poured some more wine. Brody suspected she’d had enough, but she was a big girl.

“I quit my job,” she said after a swallow, and then told him the whole story, showing him her blog and some pictures of oyster farmers and kids in a decrepit playground in Atlanta. She was pretty good, and he was about to compliment the pictures, but she slammed the laptop shut.

Brody was stunned at her ferocity. He was also somewhat ashamed of himself for having had no clue that Hannah was going through all of this. He was so busy focusing on his own issues that he’d assumed everything with her was status quo—which was how she always liked it.

But apparently there had been some big changes. That had to be why she had come here. Out on the road, on her own, she’d been looking for a friend, and instead he had... Brody rubbed his temples with his fingers, completely disgusted with his previous actions and how he’d spoken to her.

She was worried that he wasn’t okay, even though she was having her own professional crisis.

“I don’t know what else to do,” she said in frustration, standing, albeit unsteadily, as she walked over to his display case.

His grandparents had started the case, keeping everything he acquired since the time he was a kid, and Brody had added to it after he’d bought the house. Some of the things he’d thought about donating to Jackie’s auction, but he found most of the items were too difficult to part with. They represented the life he loved. The one he hoped he hadn’t left behind him.

“You see? All of this? All the things you’ve done? You know how to live adventurously. I do not,” she said, sounding totally disgusted with herself.

Brody ran a hand through his hair, unsure what to say. He’d had a plan, but with Hannah three sheets to the wind and obviously in the middle of a personal crisis, all bets were off.

“Hannah, take it from me, you are not boring,” he said, trying to find some foothold in this weird situation. “You’re...exciting in your own way.”

As he heard the words come out, he regretted them instantly.

“No,” she argued. “I’m not. The only time I’ve ever done anything exciting was with you.”

She walked back over, standing a few feet in front of him, her eyes taking on a softer quality. “Do you remember how exciting some of it was, Brody? Like that time at the track, with all of those people around—”

Brody swallowed hard, remembering all too well. Vividly, in fact. How he’d kept the pretty sounds she made quiet with his mouth as his nimble fingers had made her come behind the bleachers. It had been after a great qualifying race, and when he’d gotten out of the car, all he could think about was making his way to her and celebrating. They’d done that a lot, and it had been one of his best seasons.

“Why did you retire?” she asked bluntly.

“Um—”

“I knew it. You’re sick, aren’t you? How bad is it?”

Her eyes welled and her lip quivered and Brody stood, pulling her in close and wrapping his arms around her.

“No, honey, I’m not sick. I promise.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Except for my back, which is getting better every day, I’m healthy as can be.”

She pushed back, looking up into his face.

“Then why? And why are you here, so unhappy and not cleaning up?”

Brody shook his head, fighting a small smile at her focus on the mess. His cleaning lady had moved, and he wasn’t motivated to find another one. But that was unimportant.

“It’s complicated. Let’s focus on you right now.”

She made a noncommittal noise, her eyes dropping to his mouth. She licked her lips, and Brody had to hold back a groan.

He and Hannah had had some pretty good times now and then after they’d both finished a bottle of champagne or the like, but this was entirely different. He wasn’t about to take advantage, though it was really tough to keep his head straight as her hand slipped down over the front of his pants, squeezing.

“Hannah, oh, um, hon. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Be adventurous with me again, Brody,” she said, pushing up on her toes to drag her tongue along his lower lip as she touched him in a way that made his head spin.

“Hannah, this isn’t a good, um, idea,” he managed, closing his eyes as she touched and kissed him as he walked her to the stairs.

“I’ll show you how good an idea it is,” she responded in a purr.

Brody helped her up the stairs, his body liking what she was up to way too much for his own good. She was testing his control.

He deftly steered her into his room and set her down on the bed.

“Aren’t you going to take my dress off?” she asked prettily.

Brody looked down at her, his entire body hard, wanting. Her hair was mussed, her lips parted in the most delicious way. The dress she mentioned was pushed up on her thighs, and Brody knew how soft she was underneath.

He walked over to the other side of the bed, lowering himself down, fully clothed.

“Come here, Hannah. We have time. There’s no rush,” he said.

He gathered her up next to him, torturous as the contact was, since he had no intention of giving her what she thought she wanted.

“You feel so good. I missed you,” she murmured against his chest, and Brody closed his eyes.

He didn’t say another word, but kissed her hair and stroked her shoulder until her breathing evened and eventually, something he’d forgotten, she offered a soft Hannah snore.

Extracting himself quite gently, he pulled the sheet up over her and left, closing the door. He’d sleep downstairs—after a very cold shower—and hopefully by morning he could figure out what the heck he was going to do.

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