Jill Shalvis - The Street Where She Lives

“TOOK YOU FIVE minutes,” Emily muttered when Ben finally came down the spiral steps. She sat cross-legged in the foyer, a long phone cord trailing across the floor to her laptop, which according to Rachel, she used to chat with her only friends-and cyber friends at that. She unplugged it and stood up. “Next time take the pole down, it’s faster.”

He’d taken the extra minute to call this latest letter in to his FBI contact. “Right. The pole.”

“Ready?”

He forced a smile. “Yep.”

They stepped outside. Ben checked and rechecked the front door lock as they stepped outside, then looked around with an eagle’s eye. There was a male jogger, a newspaper delivery guy on a bike weighted down by bags of newspapers and a woman in a sports bra and tiny shorts on in-line skates.

Nothing out of the ordinary for South Village, but the urge to wrap Emily up and tuck her away someplace safe for the rest of her life was strong.

Then there was Rachel. How he felt about protecting her was far more complicated. She’d once turned her back on him with ease.

And yet he found himself utterly incapable of doing the same.

Garrett sat on his front step reading a newspaper and drinking coffee, looking big and muscled and capable of taking down anyone he chose.

Ben sighed with resignation. “You going to be there for a little while?”

Garrett eyed him over the top of the paper. “Yep.”

Ben hitched a shoulder toward Rachel’s front door. “You’ll keep an eye out for a few?”

Garrett looked at the house, then back at Ben. “You expecting trouble?”

“I always expect trouble.”

Garrett nodded. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

Since neither Asada nor the bogeyman jumped out and announced themselves, he and Emily left the small front gate for the street.

Though it was still spring, this was Southern California, where there were two seasons-hot and hotter. Even at the crack of dawn Ben could tell the day would be on the fiery side of hell by noon.

“Phat day, huh?” his daughter said, and led him down the sidewalk.

“Phat,” he repeated, and made her laugh.

They passed a dinner theater and a do-it-yourself ceramic studio. And a shocking amount of people for just after 6:00 a.m.

“Early commuters,” Emily announced cheerfully. “Did you know on the weekends we’re up to twenty thousand people walking through here?”

That was 19,999 too many if you asked him.

They passed an ice-cream shop, which was also open. And also packed. “Don’t you love it here?” Emily asked. “You can buy ice cream 24/7.”

Love it? The crowds, the noise, the hustle and bustle, sucked the soul right out of him. What he’d love would be to leave right now, put ten thousand miles between him and this place. He didn’t belong here, on the very streets that had made him miserable. Hollow.

He should be used to that hollow feeling-he’d been raised on it. Then he looked into Emily’s happy, expectant eyes, and pushed away that feeling.

At least for now, he was going nowhere but crazy any time soon.

“This is it.” Around the corner, Emily gestured to a small outdoor café that had heavenly scents making his nose and stomach come to life. The tables were wrought iron and close enough that Ben could catch snippets of everyone’s conversation around them. Already seated were an eclectic mixture of urbanites, construction workers and shoppers. Ben sat and opened the menu that had more choices for coffee than for food.

“When summer comes,” Emily told him, carefully setting down the laptop she never seemed to be without, “I’m going to ask the owner if I can work here.”

“When you’re twelve, summer isn’t for working.”

She frowned. “What is it for?”

He’d never been a normal twelve-year-old, so hell if he knew. “For hanging out with friends?”

Some of the sunshine went out of her eyes. “I’d rather work.”

Ben remembered his preteen years pretty much sucking, too, but Emily came from a different universe. “What’s the matter with friends?”

“Nothing.”

“Em.”

“The other kids are all weird.”

“Weird, how?”

“The girls are into boys and the boys are into skate-boarding.”

“Well, then things haven’t changed much.”

She lifted her menu in front of her face, blocking him off. “I’m hungry.”

Okaaay. Leaning forward, he hooked a finger in her menu and lowered it. “Just let me say one thing.”

“Do you have to?”

“As your dad, yes.”

With a dramatic sigh, she set aside her menu, looking more than a little wary.

“Worrying about you sorta comes with the territory of being your dad. I can’t help myself.”

“Do you want to help yourself?”

“Huh?”

Her eyes were shuttered now. “Would you rather you didn’t have the territory at all?”

How was it he forgot how smart she was? “No, I want the territory. Emmie.” He touched her hand when she looked away. “I want to be a dad. Your dad. I love that.”

She bit her lower lip. “Sure?”

“I’m very sure, sweetness, but thanks for checking.”

She grinned.

He grinned back. “So…”

“So, I’m fine.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Short of alienating her by pressing, he had no choice but to drop it. They ordered enough food to keep their arteries clogged for the year, and Ben spent the entire meal trying to spot Asada, or someone sent by him, in every face.

He hated that. He hated the helplessness, the vulnerability. With Asada in hiding, the cat-and-mouse game was on, with everyone Ben cared about as the mouse.

After breakfast, they started walking back. “Turn here,” Emily said, pointing to an alley between a lingerie shop and a gallery. “Shortcut.”

In his world, an alley was a death trap. “Let’s walk around the building and-”

“Hear that? Oh my God, look!”

Before he could stop her, she’d run into the alley, set her laptop on the ground and scooped something up into her arms.

By the time he reached her, Emily was jumping up and down with the bundle still in her arms. “Can we keep it, can we, can we?”

The “it” in question was the smallest, ugliest puppy on the face of the earth. Drab brown, flat face, hanging ears…the thing couldn’t have weighed more than three pounds soaking wet. In Emily’s arms, it seemed to sink in upon itself, ribs sticking out, eyes huge and pathetic and right on them. When Ben came close, it shrunk back with a whimper, then licked Emily’s hand.

“He’s a stray.” Emily hugged it tighter. “No collar. Oh, look…he’s half-starved.” Emily blinked up at him. “He’s an orphan, Daddy.”

Ah, hell. “No.”

“But we can’t just leave him here.”

“Yes, you can. You just put him down and walk away.”

Her face creased into a disapproving frown. “Mom said you’re a hero. That you save people. How can you say such a thing?”

Rachel had called him a hero? He couldn’t fathom that conversation. “Em…we can’t just bring a dog home.”

“But I’ve always wanted one…always.” Her lower lip began a slow thrust outward. “Especially because I’m so lonely…”

Ah, man… “Em…”

“Oh, Daddy, isn’t he adorable? We have to take him home and feed him.”

The puppy, sensing victory, seemed to perk up.

Ben closed his eyes but it didn’t matter. He could still see that grungy, mangy, pathetic face.

“Please, Daddy? Please?”

He strained for a valid reason that would get him off easy. “Your mother-”

“We’ve been meaning to get a dog, I swear! Just before Mom’s accident we’d decided to rescue one from the pound, but I can rescue this one instead.”

The puppy licked Emily’s cheek now. Blinked chocolate-brown eyes at Ben. Then whined softly, as if too hungry to put any real energy into it.

Damn it, he couldn’t stand when someone-or something-was hungry.

“And look, his ears are darker than the rest of him, they’re so cute.”

And dirty.

Emily rubbed her face against the dog, looking so happy it was almost painful to look at her. “We can call him Patches,” she said.

Patches sighed in bliss, and exposed a sunken-in belly for rubbing.

Ben sighed too, and found himself rubbing that soft belly. “Only one problem, Em.”

“No. No problem.”

“Yep.” Besides his zillion others. He stroked the soft belly again and gave Em a wry smile. “Patches isn’t a him.”

S EVENTEEN AND PREGNANT . Her father would kill her. Her mother would hiccup, spill her vodka, then burst into tears…or maybe just pass out.

Melanie would care. She’d wrap Rachel in a hug, then offer to drive her to the clinic that Rachel had driven her to twice now.

But Rachel wouldn’t consider that route, not for herself. Yet the alternative…keeping the baby… How could she? Everything she was going to be, everything she wanted for herself, depended on the next few years. Years in which she’d have to work hard to make it all happen. She wanted a career, she wanted security and stability. But most of all, she wanted a home, a permanent home, right here in South Village.

And she wanted to never, ever, be dependent on anyone for anything.

But now she had someone depending on her, a defenseless little someone. What did she know about babies, she wondered half-hysterically. Babies needed warmth, caring, unconditional love, but she didn’t even really know what those words meant.

Ben would have given her all of those things, and his name along with them. But he also wanted to drag her to the four corners of the earth and never settle down.

Tonight, she’d looked into his incredible eyes, had seen the love he had for her, and had nearly, very nearly, caved. And yet, ironically, it had been the enormity of what he felt for her that had held her back.

So, she’d given in to the fear and told him to go.

And with shocking ease, he had, leaving her here, alone, just as she’d wanted.

While a little part of her couldn’t help but wonder…how deep could his love really have been if he’d shaken it off so easily? With a choked sob, she put her head to her knees.

And awoke to the sun piercing in her window. Just a dream, a horrible, wrenching dream. She started to sigh in relief, but the pain kicked in, and she remembered.

Not just a dream. It’d all really happened.

But she was no longer a young woman all alone. She had Emily now and they were a family, so anything was bearable. To prove it, she struggled to sit up. Her vision wavered for a second and her ribs sent pain jabbing to her brain. Tightening up, she braced for more. But shockingly enough, despite the aches, bumps, bruises and casts, it was nothing she couldn’t bear.

Standing up, however, was a different story entirely. She tried until she was gasping for breath and sweating, but she couldn’t do it.

Okay, not quite ready, she finally decided, sitting panting on the edge of her bed, swiping at her brow. What now? The pj’s were a problem. They were sheer and completely inappropriate for ignoring ex-lovers who were suddenly back in one’s life.

Yes, he’d already seen her in it, several times as a matter of fact since he’d checked on her during the night, helping her to the bathroom, bringing her water, and my God, the heat in his eyes had given her sunburn. She’d felt his unbelievable wanting, and had actually felt the same. How did one go thirteen years without setting eyes on someone and then see him again and want so badly? How did that happen? Well, however it worked, she didn’t care to repeat it.

Clothes. Number one order of business. Getting the pj’s top off wasn’t so difficult, her new air casts were surprisingly lightweight and easy to maneuver. She simply nudged the straps off her shoulders with her good arm, refusing to give in to the pain that was beginning to make itself known in her bad arm, and let the thing fall to her waist. With a good amount of wriggling, she managed to kick off both the pants and the camisole in one fell swoop.

Getting something else on…not quite so easy. Realizing she had no clothes within reach, her scramble out of her pj’s suddenly didn’t seem such a wise move. And…yep, that was the doorbell. Naturally. Because she sat there in nothing but panties.

Her robe lay across the foot of her bed. Using her good leg, she grabbed it with her toes and pulled it toward her. So far so good. But the terry cloth was thick and heavy, and one sleeve was inside out and-

The doorbell rang again.

Damn it! Where was Emily? School already? Without saying goodbye? Did she have lunch money and her homework? And where was Ben? She was almost afraid to wonder, because with her luck, she’d conjure him up here while she sat there looking like a black-and-blue poster child for abuse, huffing and puffing like a junkie to boot.