She saw a stranger. A lean, six-foot-and-more stranger, who somehow knew a nickname she’d worked years to lose.
“H-haven’t I though?” Lauren stammered, smiling politely at the man even as her brain flipped frantically through mug shots of long-lost relatives, old boyfriends and past patients of her physician father.
“You don’t have a clue who I am, do you?”
So much for fooling the guy. Lauren hesitated, then gave in to honesty. “Sorry, no.”
“Nicolas Gatewood.”
Nicolas Gatewood? Ex-beau of big sister Diana? Texas City bad boy? High school dropout? Lauren’s gaze swept down and then back up his athletic frame, looking for any of Nick Gatewood’s trademarks: boots, black leather jacket or the words Harley-Davidson. Instead she saw a navy blue cotton sweater, faded form-fitting jeans and scruffy loafers.
“You’re lying,” she blurted, an answer that made him roar with laughter. That joyous sound turned the heads of the Dallas Cowboy football fans lined up all around them. Lauren didn’t care. That laugh also confirmed the man’s claim. Only one male alive displayed mirth with such abandon, and it was with difficulty that she hid her pleasure at seeing him again.
“I’m not, and I can prove it.” He thought for a moment. “Close your eyes and picture the corner of Third Street and Marshall, Texas City, Texas, on a sunny May afternoon about…oh…nineteen or twenty years ago. There are lots of kids standing around waiting for the school bus. One of them is a thirteen-year-old squirt of a tomboy with curly blond hair, freckles and knobby knees.” He paused. “Get the picture so far?”
“It’s slowly coming into focus.” Actually the scene was crystal clear, but Lauren didn’t tell Nick that. Why, she wasn’t sure, but guessed it had something to do with his blatant masculinity, his utter self-confidence, his charm.
Or was it the fact that the longer he talked, the longer she got to stare at him?
“The tomboy, we’ll call her Sissy, is being mercilessly teased by three high schoolers—”
“Moe, Larry and Curly,” Lauren wryly supplied. Nick grinned. “She’s frightened, near tears.”
“Bull. She’s about to break Moe’s nose.”
Nick’s grin widened. “So you remember that afternoon?”
“Of course I remember it. You saved those idiots from a thrashing they would never have forgotten.”
“And all this time I thought it was you I saved when I rode up on my trusty steed.”
“Trusty steed, my foot. You rode up on that beat-up Harley of yours, and the only reason I got on behind you was pity.”
He frowned slightly. “You felt sorry for me? Why?”
“Diana had just dumped you for Brent McEntyre, remember?” Lauren’s four-years-older sister had loved ’em and left ’em at an alarming rate during her teenage years.
“Ach. So she had. I’d forgotten.”
I’ll bet. Lauren still remembered the look on Nick’s face when he’d dropped her off at her house moments after the rescue and found Brent’s sports car parked in the drive. Devastated didn’t begin to describe his expression. “That’s the last time I ever saw you.”
“Until now.”
“Yes, until now.” Lauren smiled at him and, suddenly self-conscious, tried to play it cool as she twisted a tendril of hair that had escaped from the French twist at the back of her head. The next second she abandoned that and, with a hearty “God, it’s great to see you!” threw her arms around his middle.
Nick hugged her back so hard the breath left her lungs in a soft whoosh. Just as abruptly he let go and glanced over his shoulder to check his progress in the concession line. He moved a few steps closer to the counter, then gave Lauren his attention again.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” he said, stuffing the tips of his fingers in the front pockets of his jeans. She realized then that he didn’t look totally at ease, himself. “I seem to recall that you hate football.”
Lauren shrugged casually even as she noted the slight flush now staining his tanned cheeks. Had the hug embarrassed him or did he, too, want it to go on forever?
“One of my partners had a spare ticket.”
“Partners? What are you…a lawyer or something?”
She laughed. “Or something. I’m a doctor—OBGYN.” She told him the names of her four female partners and where their clinic was located.
Nick slapped the palm of one hand to his head as though pronouncing himself a dunce. “I should’ve guessed you’d follow in the old man’s footsteps. You had his knack for healing hurts even when you were a kid.”
Lauren thought of her father, a general practitioner dead eleven years. “You think?”
“I know.” Nick glanced back to check his progress in the line once again and adjusted his position accordingly. Lauren followed suit, keeping the distance between them the same. “You live here in Irving?”
“Dallas, actually. What about you? What are you doing now and where?”
“I’m an architect.” He laughed at her startled expression “With Avery, Sanders and Wright, Inc. Heard of them?”
Still stunned by his occupation—as far as she knew the man had never finished high school—Lauren barely managed a nod. Who hadn’t heard of the prestigious firm?
“I work in Dallas, too,” Nick said, adding, as if to answer her unspoken questions, “G.E.D. in the Army, college after I got out.”
“Why, that’s wonderful!” Lauren exclaimed, giving him both a verbal and literal pat on the back.
“You’re surprised, aren’t you?”
“To be honest, I am.”
“You thought I’d wind up working in a garage somewhere, wearing grease-stained coveralls and a torn T-shirt.”
“That’s not true,” Lauren retorted even though she knew he teased. For some reason it was important that Nick understand she’d always thought he had potential. “I may not have guessed you’d be an architect, but I knew you’d go places.”
“Oh, I went places, all right—beginning with boot camp and ending up in Germany. Six countries in seven years.”
“Must have been exciting,” Lauren murmured, nudging him to close the gap in the line again.
Nick moved obediently. “Turned my life around. Taught me discipline. Gave me pride, goals. Enlisting was the best decision I ever made.”
“An architect…” Lauren shook her head, still not quite believing it. “So are you happily married now, with two-point-five children?”
“Not me.” He glanced at her left hand, obviously looking for a wedding band. His eyes widened in surprise. “You’re single, too?”
“Yes, and probably always will be unless you know a saint who wouldn’t mind his wife delivering everyone’s babies but her own…”
“Hey, Bud! Do you want a dog or not?”
Thus alerted that he was holding up the line again, Nick said, “Don’t run off,” then turned his back on her.
Lauren noted that he was just two people from the counter now. Guessing he’d face forward until served, she made the most of the opportunity to examine this view of him. Not bad, she thought, relishing how his sweater accentuated his broad shoulders