A Chance Encounter Read online

  “What are all these odd volumes? They’re not the usual things you find in bookstores.”

  Katie sat down in the chair, rubbing her temple where a headache was threatening to begin. “Would you be less suspicious if they were pornographic? I suppose so. You’re used to dealing with the misery of life—not its joy.”

  Taylor gave her a guarded look. “How do you know what I’m used to?”

  She shrugged tiredly. “You’ve spent a lot of time investigating crimes. I can feel it around you.” And then she lifted her head, meeting his incredulous gaze. “Or is the truth too unsettling? I should lie and say I read it somewhere, then you would have believed me.”

  There was a lingering sadness in her tone. And she had hit on the truth, Taylor admitted grudgingly. He suddenly wanted to ask her a hundred more questions, but saw the fatigue in her eyes. Again he felt a twinge of guilt. “Do you always tell the truth?”

  “Even if it hurts,” she said ruefully, a slight smile on her lips. But it was that same sad smile that tore at his carefully protected heart—and made him feel guilty.

  “What did you do to that man?”

  “I touched him.”

  “Well, so did I, and he sure as hell didn’t stop gasping and choking when I did it.”

  “You called for help. I came because you asked me to. Once someone has made a request of me, I’m bound by cosmic law to help. It’s as simple as that.”

  He stared. “Lady, there’s nothing simple about you.”

  Katie managed a patient smile. “Oh, I’m very simple, Mr, Grant. Transparent, so I’m told.”

  “Then why are you evading my question?”

  “I thought I answered it.”

  “Then maybe I didn’t ask it clearly enough.”

  Katie inclined her head. “You’re an intelligent man, Mr. Grant. I was hoping your heart would be in the right place, too.”

  He bridled at her words. “I don’t get paid to listen to my heart, Ms. Riordan. Every time I allowed myself to get involved with the people I was investigating, I paid a huge emotional price. That’s unacceptable to me. So we’ll just leave my feelings out of this and get on with the reason I’m here.”

  She flinched at the anger in his voice. It wasn’t out of fear, however. Katie felt his pain, and she closed her eyes, massaging her temples. She was annoying him, but she had to be discreet—something it was terribly hard for her to be.

  “Very well, Mr. Grant.” Katie opened her eyes and focused on his pale countenance. The anger and pain she saw in his eyes made her want to cry for him. He must have gone through a private hell to be reacting this way. Getting up, she placed a teakettle on a hot plate. “Would you like some herb tea? I’m going to have some.”

  Taylor shook his head, angry that she’d been able to intuit so much about him when after all, they were strangers. Katie unsettled him, unstrung him, left him off balance and wanting—Lord—wanting simply to grip her in his arms and hold her. Hold her, feel that warm, feminine body against his. Her warmth against the frigid cold inside him. She could thaw him, make him feel again, he realized.

  “I’ve got a deadline to meet,” he said, forcing his mind to return to the subject at hand. “Now, either you tell me what you did or I’ll print this article without your help.”

  Katie reached for a mug with a brightly painted rainbow on it and selected a tea bag from a box. “I’ll answer your questions,” she said quietly.

  “Are you a witch?”

  Katie gasped, whirling toward him. “A witch!” Her blue eyes grew furious. “Where did you get that idea?”

  “Well, all these books on astrology—”

  “Astrology is not witchcraft, Mr. Grant. Before you jump to conclusions, why don’t you look at the shelves? You’ll find nothing on witchcraft here—and you never will. Not so long as I’m the owner.”

  “Then what kind of bookstore is this?”

  “A New Age bookstore, that’s what!”

  Taylor glared darkly at her. “Want to give me your definition of New Age, Ms. Riordan?”

  The teakettle whistled shrilly, and Katie pulled it from the hot plate. Her hand trembled as she poured hot water into the cup; some splashed out onto the small counter. Muttering under her breath, Katie banged the teakettle back down and stooped to retrieve some paper towels. “New Age means “metaphysics.” Meta, Mr. Grant, means ‘beyond.’ And if you add physics you have ‘beyond physics.’” Her eyes were flashing dangerously, but she kept her voice down. “It is the study of the unseen, that which we cannot weigh or measure with our present technology, but which surely exists—just as you and I do. Consider it quantum physics landscape.”

  He noticed that when she was angry, the color rushed into her cheeks and a display of fireworks flashed in her deep gaze. The ebony sheen of that glorious black mane made Taylor long to run his fingers through it. “Give me an example of metaphysics at work.”

  She turned her back on him, drowning the tea bag viciously in the hot water. “You saw it in action today, Mr. Grant. Now leave,” she hissed. “Because you and I have no common ground on which to understand each other. You clearly know nothing of these topics. And I won’t tolerate your obvious contempt when you won’t make the slightest effort to understand the world I live in.”

  He combed his fingers through his hair, trying to understand her. “You’re right. I don’t believe in any of that junk, seen or unseen. What counts, lady, is the real and very ugly world right outside that door.” He punched a finger in the direction of the street. “Hell, you could get robbed right here in the store.”

  Katie faced him, the mug of tea cradled between her long, expressive fingers. The anger had vanished. Her eyes now held a mixture of sadness and understanding. “That won’t happen.”

  “Oh?”

  “Don’t ask for an explanation, Mr. Grant. You’d probably roll on the floor and die of laughter if I gave you one. Suffice it to say I’ve been running this bookstore for five years and I’ve encountered no criminals.”

  Grant planted his hands on his hips, drawn to her despite himself. “If you don’t give me a clear and specific explanation of what you did to that cardiac victim, Ms. Riordan, I’m going to write the article from my perspective only.”

  Katie tried to still her pounding heart. “You’ll write it the way you see it no matter what I say, Mr. Grant. Any explanation I gave you would be superfluous.” After a quiet moment during which she seemed to reconsider the situation, she threw him a pleading look. “Please don’t write the story. It’s not as significant as you make it out to be. The only important thing is that the man will live.”

  “How do you know he will?”

  “I know,” she answered stubbornly. “Why don’t you check with the hospital?”

  “Oh, I intend to do just that, Ms. Riordan, as soon as I get some straight answers out of you.”

  Her eyes rounded. “I’ve given you answers!” she said, her temper flaring.

  “Politician’s answers. Answers that tell me nothing.”

  He admired her spunk, her strength of spirit, despite the differences between them. “Well, I’m not known for printing evasions. I haven’t made a name for myself doing that.”

  She sat down, glaring up at him. “Mr. Grant, you made up your mind hours ago about what happened in that restaurant. Nothing I could say would change your cynical opinions.”

  A brief grin creased the comers of Taylor’s mouth. “Oh, yes it would.” He wanted to know more about her. She was interesting—and utterly different from any woman he had met. The face of a child and the body of a woman, he thought. And a guileless quality that beckoned like a light in the darkness of his heart. And then he reminded himself that women were rarely helpless. Or vulnerable. They only appeared that way. Her fine, thin brows knit with vexation at his persistence.

  “If you think for a moment that you threaten me or—”

  Taylor laughed deeply. It was the first time in ages. “I like your honesty,
Ms. Riordan. And if we didn’t have this little matter of a newspaper story standing between us, I would like to know you better.” He recoiled within himself. What was he saying? Hadn’t he extricated himself from his marriage only one short year ago? His life was better without serious commitment to a woman. So why did he want to get to know her? Annoyed with himself, Taylor shook his head.

  Katie clamped her lips shut, coloring hotly in the wake of his compliment and frank expression of interest. She felt drawn to him, whether she wanted to be or not. “I told you, we have nothing in common. Whether or not you print that story.”

  Taylor shrugged. “Too bad. Well, I’m leaving now. That article and photo will appear in this evening’s Sun, Ms. Riordan. I strongly suggest you call me if you have anything to add.” He placed his business card in front of her. Again, Taylor felt a twinge of guilt as she looked up at him, her eyes filled with a fear he didn’t understand.

  “You do what you must, Mr. Grant,” she whispered faintly.

  “Well,” Barry said, sauntering up to Taylor’s desk, “what did you find on out about our gypsy lady?” He placed four photos in front of him, each showing Katie leaning over the cardiac victim.

  Taylor scowled and stopped typing as he scooped up the pictures. Dammit, he shouldn’t feel guilty! Katie wore an ethereal expression, kneeling by Joe Collins, the heart attack victim.

  “Gypsy is a good word,” Taylor muttered as he checked each photo. Katie looked very feminine, the glossy mane of hair framing her delicate features. “I made some phone calls, Barry. Among other things, I learned that the chief of police has gotten some complaints about her.”

  Barry sat down on the edge of the desk, making himself comfortable. “Oh?”

  “Yeah. From time to time her bookstore features speakers on astrology, numerology et cetera. Apparently some of the townspeople don’t believe in that nonsense, and three of them have lodged complaints against her.” Taylor smiled distantly. “She has no police record, though. The complaints appear to come from a few people who enjoy stirring up the dust.”

  “Were you able to track the complainants down?

  “All three of them.” He pointed to the notes he had taken as he talked to the complainants. “It amounts to a clash between their beliefs and Katie’s.” Why had he used her first name in such a personal way? She was just another story. A subject to be studied, investigated at arm’s length and nothing more.

  “Katie’s right to freedom of speech is getting trampled by her enemies?” Barry inquired, grinning.

  “That’s all.”

  “So what did they have to say about her?”

  Taylor rubbed his jaw, leaning back in the chair, his gaze dark with intensity. “One called her a witch. Another said she was a menace to society and ought to be locked away. The third called her a fake.”

  Barry’s red eyebrows moved upward. “Fake? Did the caller go into detail?”

  Taylor smiled lazily. “Apparently our Katie Riordan is a healer. You know, laying on of hands and all that? The third complainant called her a quack and a fake. Said she didn’t really heal the animals over at the veterinary hospital, like everyone said she did.”

  “Dude, this is getting interesting. Why didn’t I know about this before?”

  Taylor sat up. “Good question. Maybe that’s why the boss fired my predecessor. Any idiot knows enough to make a daily check of the police records to find out what complaints were lodged. It didn’t take much to find out all about Katie.”

  “I’ve lived in Rio Conchos for three years and never heard her name mentioned,” Barry said disbelievingly. “And in light of her performance at the restaurant, I think that’s a crime. She really is fodder for a good feature story.”

  “I think so, too. I just got off the phone with the Collins family’s physician. And you know what he told me?”

  “What?”

  “That heart attack Collins suffered in the restaurant should have killed him on the spot.” Grant scowled. Collins is in surgery right now. I’ll know more about his condition after he gets out.”

  “That’s pretty sobering when you stop to think about it,” Barry agreed. “So the doctor’s saying Collins should have died right there on the spot and he didn’t?”

  “You got it.” Taylor’s mouth moved into a thin line. “He’s alive right now because of Katie.”

  “She tell you anything?”

  “No. Closed up like a clam. I tried to call the restaurant owner again, but she refused to come to the phone. I’ve nothing but the negative reports on Katie. No one who might say anything positive about her wants to talk.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Yeah,” Taylor groused, as he returned to typing the article. “I’ll have this piece finished in a few minutes. I like the photos you took. Let’s use number three,” he said.

  Unhappily Barry stood and picked up the photo. ‘Too bad we don’t have the time to investigate this in depth. I have a feeling a whole lot is being left unsaid. How about the vet hospital? Any luck?”

  “Nope. The vet’s out on an emergency call at a horse farm and the secretary doesn’t know a thing.’”

  “Great, just great.”

  Yeah, Taylor thought with disgust, just great. He was baffled by Katie’s behavior. Why hadn’t she defended herself? It appeared that publicity wasn’t her motive after all. Three complaints had already been lodged against her, and she’d made no attempt to pump them up into headlines. One corner of his mouth twitched in annoyance. He found himself wanting to protect her, dammit. From herself, if necessary. Once this story came out, the people who disapproved of Katie Riordan would have new ammunition. But she had already won the first battle—by saving a man’s life. And his reportage of that fact would cause still more gossip, making life even harder for her. And he would be responsible. Taylor cursed himself for believing that moving to a smaller city would make news reporting any less painful. Hammering mercilessly on the keyboard of the computer, out of frustration and disgust, he rapped out the last couple of sentences and finished the article.

  Chapter 3

  Taylor had barely reached his desk the next morning, a cup of coffee in hand, when, the phone began to ring. In the first hour, there were ten calls from residents of Rio Conchos—about Katie Riordan. Editor in chief Dean Gerus emerged, beaming, from his office just as Taylor was hanging up after the final call.

  “We’re in the money, Taylor. Several West Coast dailies are going to carry your story along with the photo.” He rubbed his hands together with unabashed enthusiasm, his face wreathed in a smile. “This is great. I hire you, and inside of a week, our newspaper gets a national name.” He slapped Taylor on the back. “Hell of a story. You did a good job.”

  Taylor frowned, finishing off his cold coffee. He got up to pour another cup. Syndication of his story meant a nice chunk of money for the newspaper, and Taylor’s byline in several area papers. He felt no elation as he wondered what the notoriety would do to Katie Riordan, who had tried so hard to safeguard her privacy. He stood near the coffee machine, pondering the whole sordid mess. He hadn’t slept well last night; his thoughts—and, whether he wanted to admit it or not, his heart—were centered on Katie. Those huge lapis lazuli eyes were meltingly warm; life danced in their dark depths. He wondered what it would be like to hear Katie laugh. Well, chances were he wouldn’t get that opportunity now.

  The door to the small, cramped newspaper office flew open, hitting the wall with a loud thwack and getting everyone’s undivided attention. Taylor raised his head and turned toward the noise. Katie Riordan, a copy of the Rio Conchos Sun in her hand, burst through the door like a tornado. Taylor’s breath caught in his chest as he drank in her fiery beauty. The mass of raven-colored hair was caught up in a red ribbon so that it didn’t hide the beauty of her flushed face. Today she was dressed in the style of the late eighteen hundreds. The off-white muslin dress did everything for her petite figure, the lace at her throat and cuffs accenting her haun
ting femininity. And those eyes. Taylor shook his head as if to cast off her magical spell. But just as soon as Katie’s narrowed gaze caught and locked with his, she turned from a Victorian maiden into a wild-eyed tigress.

  “You!” she cried, swinging the paper angrily over her head as she approached him. “You—you miserable excuse for a human being!” She halted inches from him, waving the newspaper under his nose. “How dare you!” she sputtered, her voice strained and quavering. “How could you write such garbage?”

  “Calm down, Ms. Riordan,” Taylor growled.

  “Calm down! How would you feel if some idiot reporter wrote such lies about you? I’m not a sorceress. Or a fake, as you’ve reported!”

  Taylor’s mouth drew into a grim line. “Look, I asked for your side of it, but you refused to discuss the incident. What do you expect?”

  Katie uttered a very unladylike expletive. For the first time in her life she wanted to strike someone. Grant’s maddening calm only added fuel to the fires of rage. “I told you my side of it!”

  “Well, you didn’t elaborate sufficiently, shall we say?”

  Tears filled her eyes, making them seem even more luminous. Angrily, she dashed them away. She wouldn’t cry in front of him. “You’re the most insensitive person I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet! Do you have any idea what kind of phone calls I’ve been getting?” She raised the paper over her head. “Crank calls! Threatening calls!” She drew herself up, anguish mirrored in her haunted expression. “I’ve tried never to hurt anyone or anything, Mr. Grant. I haven’t always succeeded, but I’ve always tried to do what was right. Joe Collins is alive today, isn’t he? But instead of reporting on that side of it—the positive side—you print this outrageous nonsense just to sell newspapers and increase internet hits on your website. Well, you may be a big-time reporter with a national reputation, but you’ve lost your humanity somewhere along the way!” She threw the paper down at his feet. “I hope you feel horrible about this. But I doubt if you have even one shred of remorse. I wonder if you’re able to feel anything! Welcome to Rio Conchos, Mr. Grant. I hope you enjoy your stay here while you go about destroying people’s lives!”