“Because I’ve had cancer twice! Do you know how likely a recurrence is?”
His eyebrows drew down and together. “No. How likely is it?”
She shrugged. “Just...it’s more likely that I’ll end up with it than most people.” She’d talked with her doctor about the odds, had read all the statistics, and the upshot was that it was all individual.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You’re fine taking risks because you might possibly get cancer again? What kind of sense does that make?”
She couldn’t answer that. There was no answer, not a logical one, anyway. “I just had a test that showed something my doctor wants to keep tabs on. So I can’t travel because of the risks.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry to hear that. What are the risks?”
“Can we not talk about this?” She had no idea how they’d gotten onto this subject, and it was seriously bumming her out. “Eat your coffee cake.”
He studied her face for a moment more and then nodded and took a bite. He closed his eyes as he chewed and swallowed. “Wow. I haven’t had anything this good in years.”
That made her feel all warm inside, just how she shouldn’t be feeling, and she chided herself. There was no use getting happy about nurturing Paul. They didn’t have a romantic relationship and they wouldn’t. In addition to her odds of getting cancer again, she’d promised Wendy she wouldn’t tell Paul the truth about Davey. Keeping a secret like that nixed any chance of them getting together. Because breaking her promise and telling Paul the truth might very well destroy Davey’s life.
Bad odds all around.
He’d finished his coffee cake, and he pushed his plate away and sighed. “Thank you. You didn’t have to bake for me, but I have to admit I’m glad you did.”
“You’re welcome. Want another piece?”
“I was hoping you’d ask. I’d love one.”
Again, that made her happier than it should have, and she scolded herself as she sliced another piece for him, then decided to bring the pan over.
“Thanks,” he said. Then he met her eyes, held them. “Just because you have a chance of getting sick, that doesn’t mean you can take any risks you want to take.”
She so didn’t want to discuss this. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal. Because people care about you. I care.”
Whoa. That admission, the intensity with which he said it, took her breath away. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t look away from him.
His eyes flickered down to her lips, a miniscule movement so quick she wasn’t sure she’d seen it.
He sat back, looked away, cleared his throat. “Anyway,” he said, “you have to be safe for your daughter.”
“You’re right.” She stabbed at her coffee cake, then looked at him and forced a smile. “Don’t you even want to know what I found out, during my oh-so-risky night with Imogene?”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. I guess I do.”
She pushed her plate away. “So she’s Mary’s stepdaughter. She feels guilty about something that happened in the past. And she needs money.”
“No surprise there.” He frowned. “From how she looked last night, I’d say she needs the money for drugs.”
“Yeah. I thought so, too.”
“Which is why I want you to stop your so-called investigation of her. It’s not safe.”
“It’s not safe for Mary,” Amber protested. “I hate to think of this woman trying to scam her. And I do get the impression that’s what she’s trying to do, from some hints she dropped last night.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, and I’m not surprised, but that’s not your responsibility. Your brother-in-law’s aware of the situation and so am I. You leave it alone.” He leaned forward. “Promise me.”
“Consider me warned,” she said, which wasn’t a promise. But it was all she was willing to say at this point.
He studied her face for a moment, sighed and nodded. “Should we get to work?”
So they did, discussing the parameters of the respite house for crime victims. “Should the counseling aspect be just the victims themselves? Or families of victims, too?”
His lips tightened and then he cleared his throat. “Families will need it, too.”
“I’ll talk to Mary about that.” She hesitated, and then her curiosity got the better of her. “That idea of crime victims and their families. Is it personal? Related to the shooting?”
He looked away, then met her eyes and frowned. “Yeah. It is.”
She propped her elbows on the table. “I’m a good listener.” She took a sip of coffee and tried not to seem overly interested, even though everything about this cryptic man did interest her.
Weak sunlight sent rays through the kitchen window, illuminating motes of dust. She wanted him to go at his own pace, but it looked like he was stalling. And he seemed so troubled that she figured he needed to talk about it. “Were...were there kids killed?”
He shook his head. “Thank God, no. Injured, though, pretty badly in a couple of cases. And there was a teacher...” He broke off.
She waited, her stomach cramping because she was pretty sure she knew what he was about to say.
He cleared his throat, a harsh sound. “She was an older teacher, and she was leading her class toward the gym when the gunman opened fire. She stood right at the door, ushering the students in, reassuring them, hurrying them.”
Amber didn’t want to picture the scene, but she couldn’t help it. “Wow. That took some guts.”
He nodded. Swallowed hard and looked out the window. “I’d called for backup and was getting some other kids into their classroom, and he...” He cleared his throat again. “He focused on her. Got angry. Angrier.”
Amber closed her eyes and shook her head, then looked at him again. “She died?”
“I was running toward him, yelling to distract him. Couldn’t get a good shot because of the other kids and teachers. I could have...” He slapped the heel of his hand on the table, jostling the plates and mugs. “I’ve relived it hundreds,
