Rhyme or Reason Read online

  Rhyme or Reason

  By Erica Spindler

  RHYME OR REASON

  All Rights Reserved © 1990, 2013 by Erica Spindler

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Erica Spindler

  Originally published in print by Loveswept

  I dedicate this book to my miracles: Nathan, Nick and Jake.

  And to love,

  the greatest miracle of all.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  About the Author

  Connect With Erica Spindler Online

  Chapter 1

  Today was the day. Alexis Stanton Clare—Alex to everyone but the equally stuffy Stantons and Clares—lifted her chin, narrowed her eyes, and strode determinedly past the resort’s Olympic-size swimming pool. ‘Sam’ might be one tough hombre, but today she would beat him at his own game—or die trying.

  The late afternoon Arkansas sun was weak but still warm enough to draw the most devoted sun worshipers to the chaise lounges circling the pool. Women all, they lounged in hundred-dollar bits of fabric and string and cast curious glances as Alex moved past.

  She brushed at her dusty khaki shorts. She didn’t mind their stares, she knew she was as out of place at this high-priced, Hot Springs resort as they would be in her tiny cabin in the woods. Her white T-shirt, hands, and legs were stained an orange-pink from her morning’s work and her hiking boots were caked with the same orange-hued soil.

  She shook her head, one corner of her mouth lifting in wry amusement. She could almost hear her mother’s voice, cultured in the way of only women from the best southern families—”Alexis Stanton Clare, ladies most certainly do not play in the dirt.” Nor would they wear hiking boots, men’s undershirts, or quartz crystal charms, Alex thought. She considered herself pretty lucky to be doing all of the above—and getting paid for it.

  When she reached her destination, she stopped and took a deep breath. Today was the day, she told herself again, smiling in anticipation. She could do it. Letting out her breath in a rush, she pushed through the saloon-style doors and faced her opponent—a twenty-year-old pinball machine named Gunslinger Sam.

  The room was dim and without air conditioning, warm; it smelled faintly of chlorine and must. At the moment, Sam had another challenger, a young girl. From her expression, Alex knew she wasn’t faring well against the nefarious outlaw.

  Alex sauntered over to the machine and put a quarter on its glass top. The girl lifted her eyes for a second and her ball slipped past her paddles.

  “Darn.”

  “Tough luck,” Alex said sympathetically. “Do you have another quarter?”

  Pink slid up the girl’s cheeks. “Yes.”

  “Go for it.”

  She did and for several minutes Alex watched her. The youngster looked to be about nine or ten. She was pretty, with soft features. Her long chestnut-colored hair was pulled away neatly from her face with a shiny pink ribbon, not a strand was out of place. Alex thought of her own untamable mane of red hair and grinned.

  This girl was the type of daughter her own mother had always wanted.

  She lost another quarter, sighed, and stepped away from the machine. “I give up.”

  “I know how you feel, he’s one crafty dude.”

  “Pardon?” The girl’s expression was both shy and curious.

  “Sam.” Alex motioned toward the picture on the machine, of a cowboy so gritty and tough, he looked as if he ate nails for breakfast and spit them back out after lunch. “He and I have gone head to head on many occasions.”

  “You’ve never won?”

  “Nope. But I will.” Alex sidled up to the machine. “And today’s the day.”

  “Really?” The girl moved a step closer, eyes wide. “How do you know?”

  Alex flashed her a smile. “With a guy like Sam, you have to be cocky.” She slipped her quarter into the slot, then pulled back on the spring lever. Within a second the ball was up the channel and rocketing off the bumpers. Alex threw herself into the game, rocking and jiggling the machine as she maneuvered the paddles.

  Several minutes later the ball slipped by her, and she snorted in disgust. She would have to do a lot better than that to beat him.

  Alex glanced down at the youngster. “You know, I was watching your technique and I think I could give you a few pointers. Interested?” When the girl nodded, Alex pulled back on the lever and let the ball fly. “You have to put your whole body into it and get aggressive. But know how far to push, because if you go beyond that you’ll tilt and lose it all. See...” Alex shifted so she was leaning slightly forward, then using the weight of her body she shook and rocked the machine, careful not to cause it to tilt. “Use your hips if you have to”—she demonstrated a sideways thump with hers—”but never take your eyes off the ball.”

  Lights blinked, bells rang, the ball remained in play. The action was lightning fast, and Alex knew that this time she really did have him. Her second ball dropped, she fired out her third.

  Minutes passed, points mounted. Alex laughed out loud as the machine started clicking over free games.

  “You did it!” the girl exclaimed when it was over. “You won four games! Just like you said you would!”

  Alex laughed again and lifted the hair off her damp neck. “Yeah, but I’ve been saying that for weeks. I think you’re good luck. Come on, I’ll buy you an ice cream to celebrate.”

  The girl’s smile faded. “Aren’t you going to stay and use your free games?”

  “Nah. I couldn’t top this one. Besides, it’s hot in here.”

  The youngster held back. “My dad doesn’t like me to have too much sugar.”

  Alex lowered her eyes to the girl’s designer shorts outfit. It was as immaculate as the rest of her; her white sandals looked as if they’d never seen a garden path, let alone a mud puddle. Yuppie parents, she thought. “Okay then, forget the ice cream. Let’s walk down to the lake and dip our toes in the water.”

  “I shouldn’t.” The girl’s shoulders slumped. “I’m not allowed by the lake without my father. Besides, I promised him I wouldn’t leave the arcade.”

  She looked positively dejected and Alex’s heart went out to the youngster. She knew too well about overprotective, controlling parents.

  “I’ll just stay here...” The girl’s voice trailed off and the word she didn’t say hovered in the air between them. Alone. In that moment Alex knew this child spent entirely too much time alone. And that she needed a friend.

  It was none of her business, Alex told herself. This girl had parents; it would be wrong of her to try and interfere with their wishes. She should give the girl the free games and walk away. Alex sighed. She’d never been any good at taking advice, even when it was her own.

  “Come on, we’ll go sit by the pool and pretend it’s the lake.” She grinned and held out her hand once again. “And while we’re at it, the cabana grill has frozen yogurt. Do you think your dad would allow you to have that?”

  Lacy—that was the girl’s name, Alex learned later—had said he sometimes did and they’d lapped at their chocolate cones as they dangled their feet in the cool, chlorinated water.

  Lacy had told her she was from Boston and lived with her father, who was a doctor, and that they were here for a
n extended vacation. She didn’t mention her mother, and Alex didn’t ask. They spent about thirty minutes together, the conversation had been light and friendly—an adult and a child getting to know one another.

  Then, when Alex had shaken Lacy’s hand goodbye, it had happened.

  It. Her gift, her curse... her ability to channel another’s pain.

  Alex climbed her porch steps. From inside the cabin came the snuffle and whine from Heinz, her huge Heinz-57 mutt. She opened the door and he charged out to the yard to relieve himself.

  Alex stared blankly after him. Lacy’s touch had stunned her. Sometimes it happened that way—an immediate reaction to a person, a physical call for help so strong it was like a shout. She wasn’t sure she’d felt it so keenly before. Something was terribly wrong with Lacy, something more than being lonely or overprotected.

  She had to help her.

  Alex looked down at her hands. They trembled slightly, and she silently swore. Two years ago she’d vowed to ignore this ‘gift’ of hers and let people heal themselves. She’d managed to keep her vow by avoiding any type of attachments or involvements, by hiding herself away in the woods. And she’d been happy. She’d been safe.

  Disappointed in herself, Alex curled her fingers into her palms. She was a coward. She’d jerked her hand away from Lacy’s as if the child had been contagious.

  She’d been afraid.

  Angry at her own reaction and determined to overcome it, Alex focused on the image of Lacy’s sweet, hesitant smile and vulnerable brown eyes. A moment later the phantom pains returned—a burning in her throat, a gnawing ache in her chest. She forced herself to breathe through them and after several moments, the sensation passed.

  “Heinz,” she called. “C’mon, boy! Supper time.”

  The dog bounded across the yard and up the steps, his entire backend swinging with excitement.

  Alex scratched him behind the ears, thoughts still on Lacey. This gift of hers allowed her to feel another’s pain, assimilate their confusion, their despair. And when that happened, how could she not become totally involved? She couldn’t. It was as simple as that.

  But this time, somehow, she wouldn’t be hurt.

  Chapter 2

  Dr. Walker Chadwick Ridgeman checked his watch for the fourth time that morning. It was eight-thirty, still too early to pay a call on that Alex woman’s crystal shop.

  He dragged his fingers through his dark, wavy hair, tamping back his impatience and annoyance. He hadn’t liked hearing that a strange woman had befriended his daughter, he liked it even less that she had encouraged Lacy to break several of his rules. And now he hated waiting for the confrontation.

  When she’d returned home the night before, Lacy had held up a quartz crystal with excitement. It was a small thing, not worth more than a dollar. But it wasn’t the worth of the item that mattered, it was the principle—Lacy wasn’t allowed to talk to strangers, let alone accept gifts from them.

  He glanced over to the couch where she slept. At the same moment love washed over him, so did a feeling of helplessness. Walker balled his hands into fists. Why Lacy? Hadn’t his sweet, beautiful daughter endured enough pain in her ten, short years?

  He drew in a deep, calming breath, then released it. Crossing to his daughter, he tenderly touched her cheek. He had to let go of his anger and learn to live with the truth—Lacy was a narcoleptic and would, most probably, never recover.

  Not without a miracle anyway. Walker shook his head, still stroking his daughter’s cheek. Narcolepsy wasn’t a life-threatening disease, but it wasn’t curable either. And as much as he might wish for one, he was a doctor; he knew incurable conditions remained that way and miracles were found only in the Bible.

  There was a knock at his door. Walker drew his eyebrows together, both at the fact that anyone would be calling on them so early and at the sound that accompanied the knock, a strange scruffling as if a dog were scratching at fleas.

  It was a dog, Walker realized in surprise as he opened the door. The biggest, hairiest, silliest looking one he’d ever seen.

  The same couldn’t be said for the woman beside him. She was stunning. Her hair was the color of fire and fell away from her face in wild waves, stopping just past her shoulders. Her eyes were those of a dreamer, large and the clear green of a summer lawn. They so dominated her face that at first glance he hadn’t noticed her strong cheekbones or generous mouth. Her skin was smooth and pale; freckles abounded across her rather perky nose.

  Hers weren’t traditional good looks. He supposed she couldn’t even be called beautiful. But there was something vibrant about her, something natural and wholesome—a sort of earthy sensuality.

  The flame-haired woman smiled. “I hope you have coffee.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “To go with the blueberry-whole wheat muffins.” She held up a basket covered with a plaid napkin. “I made them myself.”

  Walker arched his eyebrows as only a fifth-generation Bostonian could. He didn’t know who this woman was or what she and her beast wanted, but he’d been up with Lacy three times the night before and enough was enough. “That’s very nice, but—”

  “Alex!”

  Lacy’s squeal was ear piercing. Stunned, Walker studied the woman more closely. This was the woman? What had happened to the gray-haired busybody in orthopedic shoes he’d been imagining?

  “Hi, Lacy!” The woman and her dog ducked by him and, he was left gazing at the empty doorway. “Heinz and I decided to stop by.”

  “This is your dog?” Lacy asked. “He’s awesome!” Walker turned around in time to see Lacy drop to her knees and throw her arms around the hairy beast. The dog immediately covered her face with appreciative kisses. Walker was too stunned to speak. When had Lacy become so fond of dogs?

  “Dad! Can I go out and play with him?”

  “I don’t know—”

  “He’s very gentle with children,” Alex called as she made a beeline for his kitchen. “Just a big baby himself.” She began rummaging through the cabinets. “Walker, do you have any herbal tea?”

  “No, I—”

  “Dad, please!”

  “Any decaffeinated coffee?”

  Walker sighed and dragged his hands through his hair. All three of them—counting the dog—were staring at him expectantly. “Yes, Lacy, you may go out and play as long as you stay right by the cottage. No, I don’t have any herbal tea or any decaf.”

  Alex clucked her tongue. “You’re a doctor, you should know how bad caffeine is for the body. Here, Lacy, take a muffin with you—” she tossed her one—“but watch out for Heinz, he loves—”

  Too late. The dog jumped, caught the muffin in midair, and started to run. Lacy squealed again and took off after him.

  “—to play catch,” Alex finished calmly, then turned and began filling the kettle with water.

  The dog barked and whizzed by him with Lacy in hot pursuit; the woman hummed as she poked around in his refrigerator. Walker took it all in, unsure whether he should be outraged or amused.

  With a shake of his head, he stalked to the patio doors and yanked one open. “Lacy, you and that beast outside!” A second later, Lacy raced by him, followed by the dog. That done, he turned and glared at the woman. “Now, can you tell me what the hell’s going on?”

  “I’m making coffee... well, actually, I’m heating water. All you had was instant.”

  There was an accusatory note in her voice about the limited beverage selection. He fought off his sudden urge to laugh. “I know that. Why are you here making coffee in the first place?”

  “To go with the muffins,” she said simply, starting toward him with the basket.

  Walker ran a hand across his forehead. He’d left himself open for that one. “Let me rephrase the question, why are you here at all?”

  Alex swallowed a laugh as she set the muffins on the coffee table. She’d planned to throw him off-balance then stick her nose where it didn’t belong before he realized what she was u
p to. So far, her strategy seemed to be working. The poor guy didn’t know what had hit him.

  She gave him her most winning smile. “I’m here to talk about Lacy, of course.”

  Walker felt the curving of her lips to the very pit of his stomach but scowled anyway. “Of course.” He folded his arms across his chest. “What is it about my daughter you feel compelled to discuss?”

  “She’s a lovely child. Very sweet. How do you take your coffee?”

  “Black,” he replied, narrowing his eyes.

  She handed him his cup, using the opportunity to study him. His looks weren’t standard or classic or pretty. He was tall and slim and had a serious, contemplative face. The kind of face women admired because it promised a wealth of sensitivity without losing a smidgen of strength, the kind of face women remembered. His dark-brown hair was almost curly, cut in a short conservative style that looked somehow boyish even though it shouldn’t. His eyes were a nice brown—she’d noticed that right away—and topped by a slash of dark brows.

  This morning those eyes were shadowed, his hair rumpled, cheeks unshaven. He had on a pair of old jeans, faded and worn until the fabric was thin, soft, and clung to him. His lightweight cotton sweater looked rumpled, as if he’d plucked it from a chair in haste; its vee exposed a glimpse of taut, tanned flesh.

  He had the look of a man who had spent the night making love.

  There was a fluttering at her pulse points, and Alex drew her eyebrows together. This wouldn’t do, not at all. She refused to be attracted to him.

  She held out the basket. “Muffin?”

  Walker waved it aside. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we, Ms. Clare. Why are you here?”

  Alex took a sip of her coffee. She had hoped to avoid a direct confrontation. It looked as if it wasn’t to be. “I enjoyed meeting Lacy yesterday and when she expressed an interest in going on a crystal dig, I offered to take her. Later, I thought you might be concerned.”

  “Concerned?”

  “Well, yes.” She tried another of her ‘just little ol’ me’ smiles. “I thought you might be concerned about a stranger issuing an invitation to your daughter. I came to reassure you.”