Chapter Two
Hudson flipped the perfectly folded omelet over in the pan and slid it onto a waiting plate, then grinned when he heard a sudden commotion coming from the other room.
“What’s going on? Where am I? What happened?”
“Breakfast is going on. You’re in my guest room. And nothing happened,” he called out cheerfully. “Well, other than that whole bar brawl, mass arrest, and you springing me from the big house in the wee hours of the morning thing, then driving me home,” he added. “Well, I drove me home in your car, and by the time we got here you were dead to the world, so I carried you in and thought I’d let you sleep. Seemed like the least I could do, seeing as you posted my bail.”
There was no response to that. Instead, a moment later a sleepy-eyed Moira shuffled into his kitchen in her stocking feet, pulling up the front of her strapless, now hopelessly crumpled bridesmaid gown. Her short red curls stuck out in all directions like there had been an electric socket mishap in her not so distant past, the bulk of her mascara was no longer in its original location, and she had wrinkle marks on her cheek from sleeping for nine hours straight in the exact same position. How she could be all of that and still look utterly adorable was a mystery, but there it was, all the same.
She squinted in reaction to the sunshine streaming in through the long row of windows that ran along the opposite wall, then looked down at herself and frowned. “I’m still wearing my bridesmaid gown,” she remarked, as if puzzled by the discovery.
“Aye, well, I considered getting you out of it so you’d sleep more comfortably. A task I’ve performed countless times for my sisters in years past.” He arranged sliced melon and several strawberries on the plate next to the omelet, then glanced up and smiled. “Only you’re not my sister, and I figured you’d had enough manhandling for one night.”
She just stared at him and blinked. “I’ve had a really bad time with insomnia,” she said, as if that explained everything.
“Not anymore,” he told her, his smile widening to a grin. “Coffee?”
“If there is a God.”
“I don’t know that He had anything to do with it, but there’s a fresh pot on the counter there.”
“Bless you.” She shuffled over to the counter where the fancy coffeemaker was stationed. He’d laid out a fresh mug, small pitcher of cream, and a pot of sugar.
“If you’d rather some tea or hot chocolate, the pot on the left is hot water. Tea and cocoa mix are in the two containers there. Tea bag is on the tray. I can heat up some milk if you prefer your hot chocolate—”
“Coffee,” she said, and poured herself a mug, took a deep, appreciative whiff of the rich, freshly brewed aroma, then took a sip. Her shoulders relaxed instantly and her eyes closed. She made a soft moaning sound as she swallowed. “I’m pretty sure you’re wrong. Some higher power was definitely involved in making that.” She took another sip, then another, her eyes remaining closed, palms wrapped around the warm mug.
Hudson chuckled, shook his head, and carried their plates to the small table that was bolted to the wall across from the galley style kitchen. He’d liked her from the moment they’d met, but he liked her even more now. She was a sensualist. Someone who appreciated and used all her senses to enjoy what life had to offer. Taste, touch, sight, scent, sound.
Truthfully, he’d liked her even before their less-than-conventional meeting. He’d come into the lounge specifically to find her and had observed her handling the man Hudson now knew was media mogul Maxwell Taggert like he was nothing more than your standard, run-of-the-mill barfly nuisance.
The request to track her down, make sure she was doing okay, had come from her big brother, the groom, before he’d taken off with his lovely new wife on their honeymoon. Without going into specifics, Seth had explained to Hudson that his sister had had something of a challenging year and he wanted to make sure she didn’t close herself off from the rest of the family while they were all in the Hollow. Hudson knew that of the six Brogan kids, all grown adults now, Moira and Seth were the closest. Age didn’t matter when it came to a big brother looking out for his kid sister. Hudson knew more than a little something about that and had respected Seth all the more for it.
Seth’s good friend, Sawyer Hartwell, was Hudson’s boss. Seth owned and operated a winery higher up in the hills. Sawyer owned part of a century-old, long defunct silk mill in Blue Hollow Falls that he, Seth, a few other close friends, and a good part of the town had rehabilitated and renovated. They’d turned the old place into an artists’ enclave, complete with workshops, and a beehive of shops and stalls run by a wide variety of crafters, artists, musicians, and other makers. The mill had been open for business for a little over a year now, and Sawyer operated a gastropub microbrewery built into the rear of the old place.
Actually, it had been a microbrewery with a limited food truck menu when Hudson had come on board just after the place opened. He’d been the creative mind behind the menu expansion that had turned microbrewery to gastropub. Live music happened spontaneously on the small stage built into the back of the pub, more so now that Pippa was in residence, and it had become something of a central meeting spot for the locals and the tourists who came to visit the mill, to shop, and to take classes.
Hudson loved everything about the pub, the mill, and the small mountain town it now supported. He had complete control over the kitchen, the menu, and the staff. All without the hassle of ownership, which suited him just fine, as it meant he got to do what he loved to do most. Cook. It was the dream job he’d never known he wanted, and now he couldn’t imagine doing anything else.
“That smells heavenly,” Moira said.
He turned to find her still clutching the coffee mug, filled once again to the brim. “Have a seat then, and tuck in.” Hudson adjusted the blinds on the window positioned directly above the small dining table to filter out the direct sunlight.
She hiked up the hem of the long dress and slid into the bench seat that was bolted to both floor and wall. “Interesting place,” she said, as he moved onto the bench opposite hers. “Looks like something you’d see on board a train in an old movie, with the booth table, the slider windows.”
Hudson swallowed a bite of omelet, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and grinned again. “It looks exactly like something you’d see on board a train, because it is.”
Moira paused with a strawberry halfway to her mouth, then put it back down and looked around. The other booths from that side of the train had been removed. The floor had been redone in hardwood, and the opposite side of the train car had been gutted and rebuilt into his galley kitchen. There were no visible windows on that side of the train car, but all the original windows on the table side were still in use. Behind her, the rest of the car had been turned into a tiny bedroom. That had been his bedroom once upon a time, but was used for guests now. Not that he’d ever had any.
A push through the swinging door behind him led to a short, enclosed passageway that had been constructed around the connector between the car they sat in and the one immediately behind it. That car was his personal living space now. Half lounge area, half bedroom.
Marveling, she turned to look at the entire car. “It seems a lot more spacious, with more headroom than I remember from the few trains I’ve been on.”
“It was a sleeper car originally, one of the taller models.” He nodded at her plate, silently encouraging her to eat while the food was warm. “Being as I’m also one of the taller models, it seemed like a sign when I found it.”
She was still holding the strawberry. “So, you live in a converted train car.” She’d made it a statement, not a question, but he nodded anyway.
“Cars. There are two of them, actually.” He lifted a shoulder. “I work in a gastropub inside a converted silk mill. Seeing what they’ve done with that place inspired me.”
Moira put her strawberry down altogether then and peered out through the slats in the window blinds. She immediately framed her eyes due to the glare of the sun off the landscape of sparkling white snow that dominated the scenic view. “All I see is a big open field, mountains, and a whole lot of pine trees. No other trains, and no train tracks for that matter.”
“I live in two train cars, yes, but not at a train station.”
She let the blinds clatter back together and turned to face him again, the corner of her mouth curving upward in a dry smile. “Of course. Silly me for thinking otherwise.”
“A rail did run through Blue Hollow Falls many decades ago when there were plans to start a lumber company up here. I think there was a possibility for mining as well. None of that panned out in the long run, so the railway was never finished. What stretch of track remains is buried in an overgrown forest now. I happened upon some of the track while hiking with some friends, and they mentioned there was a stretch down in the valley below with old cars still sitting on the rails.”
“And you thought, hey, my housing problems are all solved now.”
He forked up a chunk of omelet and grinned again. “Exactly.” He popped the bite of creamy eggs, mushrooms, peppers, and cheese into his mouth. When he finished, he said, “I’ll tell you the whole story if you promise to go ahead and eat.”
She gave him a rather considering look. “I thought we weren’t manhandling me any longer.”
“That’s not manhandling. Bossing around maybe,” he added with a wink, as he loaded his fork once more. “I’m a chef, food is important to me, and I want it to be enjoyed to its fullest. All my work making you the perfect gastronomical delight will be ruined if you take a bite of it gone cold.”
“Quite sure of yourself,” she said, teasing him, but cutting herself a piece of omelet, all the same.
“You have tried my coffee,” he reminded her.
“Truth to that,” she said, pointing the tip of her knife in his direction, while sliding the loaded fork into her mouth. She immediately closed her eyes and groaned again. “Oh my God,” she said, the words muffled as she was still chewing and swallowing. “That’s not an omelet,” she pronounced after she’d finished the mouthful. “That’s like a bunch of eggs and vegetables got together and had a wild and crazy orgy, and everybody was left wanting a cigarette afterward.”
Hudson barked out a laugh. “I’ve never had my food compared to an orgy, but I have to admit, I rather like it.” Yeah, he rather liked her, that he did. Hudson found himself wondering if Seth had had any ulterior motives in sending his wedding caterer and good friend down to Turtle Springs to look after his single sister. I sure hope so.
“I’d love to hear one of your closing arguments,” he said, still grinning. “I bet they’re inspired.”
Moira smiled, but there was a flicker of something else entirely that passed through her eyes. She turned her attention back to her food before he could figure out whether it was disappointment or resignation.
“What made you decide to become a chef?” she asked, somewhat obviously changing the topic. “Other than your ridiculous, God-given talent for making everything taste out of this world, I mean,” she said, smiling as she popped another bite into her mouth.
“Oh, that was pretty much it,” he said, wondering if she’d always make him grin like a madman, hoping he got the chance to find out.
She laughed at that, then took a moment to enjoy another bite. Then another. She finally put her fork down, dabbed her mouth with her napkin, and let out a contented sigh. “Well, I think I can speak on behalf of the entire planet when I say thank goodness you figured that out and went with it.”
He dipped his chin in a nod at the compliment. “What got you into law? I know from Seth that you’re the only lawyer in the family.” He smiled. “Did you discover you have a God-given talent for adjudicating?”
Despite the earlier flicker, she smiled good-naturedly. “With five older siblings, it’s a handy skill to have.”
“So, it is
your superpower then. Good, that will come in handy at my hearing.”
She frowned then. “What hearing?”
“The one happening the morning after tomorrow, down at the courthouse in Turtle Springs.” He nodded at the plate again. “Go on and finish. We can talk about it later.”
She laid her napkin on the table, all vestiges of sleep-of-the-dead hangover gone. Her gorgeous green eyes were clear, sharp, and focused now. On his legal predicament, anyway. He wondered what it would take to get her to be interested in the rest of him like that. “Assault and battery. Right. Sorry. Who charged you? The county?”
He shook his head. “Maxwell Taggert’s attorney.”
“Maxwell—” She broke off as her eyes went wide. “That sleazy pervert who hit on me? That Max was—is—Maxwell Taggert? The king of the tabloid? What was he doing in Turtle—” She broke off with a wave of her hand. “Never mind. Silly question. I guess given his ego, he thought he might directly crash the wedding. So, his interest in me wasn’t just because he’s a creepster. He probably was looking for any way to get a story for his paper.”
Hudson saw her visibly shudder. She rubbed her arms and winced, then looked down and noted the purple marks on her bicep and forearm.
He slid from his side of the table and crouched next to her. “Here, let me take a look.”
“It’s okay,” she said, but he gently took her arm and she shifted so he could turn it and see the bruising. “We should probably take pictures of those.”
“The bruises?” he asked her, surprised.
“Evidence for your case.”
“Ah, right. Let me get you a pain reliever, and some ice. You’ve a bit of swelling there.”
His fingers were gently stroking the soft skin near but not on the bruised area when her gaze met his, and held. They were mere inches apart, and he got all caught up in the emerald green of her eyes.
“I’m not feeling any pain,” she said, somewhat faintly, as they continued to look at one another.
“Good,” he said, but their gazes held for another long moment.
Had it been any other time or situation, he’d have leaned in for a kiss. He was dying to taste her, to connect with her in a far more direct way. But there was that whole manhandling thing and he knew she’d likely had more than enough direct contact with the opposite sex in the past twenty-four hours to last her a good long while.
So, he eased back and stood. “I’ll make a cool compress then,” he said. Anything to keep his hands busy, and off her. “With or without the photos, I’m thinking we can make a pretty good case that he was asking for it,” Hudson said.
“I think he’ll have a team of very, and I mean very
high-priced attorneys here by tomorrow morning, if he doesn’t already.” She looked at him straight on, her expression as serious as he’d seen it yet. “You need to get an attorney. A very, very good one.”
He flashed her a smile as he folded up a dish towel and ran it under cold water, then wrung out the excess. “Lucky I already have one of those.”
“Oh, good,” she said, relieved. Then she looked at his smile and her eyebrows lifted. “You mean me? No. First of all, I don’t have a license to practice law in Virginia. Secondly, even if I got the judge to allow it in this instance, you need someone a whole lot more experienced than me on this. Not to mention someone familiar with the laws in this state. I could make some calls, get a few names. If you can’t afford—”
“It’s not about what I can afford,” Hudson told her. “It’s about that I’m not in the wrong here. Maxwell Taggert can file all the lawsuits against me he wants, but he won’t win them.”
Moira shook her head. “He doesn’t need to win them. In fact, he never even has to go to trial to get what he wants.”
“What, some sort of plea deal? Moira, he has no case. I’m sure if we explain to his attorneys the things he said to you, they’ll be begging me not to file my own lawsuit. Or you not to file one.” He walked over and carefully wrapped the towel around her bruised bicep.
She placed her hand on it to keep it in place, then met his gaze. “Thank you,” she told him. “That does feel better.”
He nodded. “Good. Let me know if you change your mind about the pain reliever.” Seeing the marks on her arm filled him with the same uncustomary anger he’d experienced last night when he’d watched it happening right in front of him. Growing up as he had, he wasn’t a stranger to using his fists to solve things when it was demanded of him, but those times were well in his past. It was his nature to resolve issues with words, not fists. He was pretty easygoing, all told. But seeing those bruises made him feel anything but pacifistic. Probably not a good mind-set to have when you’re standing accused of assault,
he thought, no matter how much provoked.
Moira waited for him to sit down across from her again before continuing. “Taggert’s not looking to make a deal, or even to send you to jail. That’s not what men like Taggert do. Don’t you remember what he said to you? He said he’d ruin your life. Unless you have a fortune stashed away somewhere—and it better be a really, really big one—he can do that without ever setting foot in court. Or back in the state of Virginia for that matter. He’ll simply have his attorneys tie this thing up six ways to Sunday for months on end until he bankrupts you by drowning you in your own legal fees trying to keep up with them.”
Hudson hadn’t thought of it like that. “I didn’t do anything wrong. He started it. I know that sounds like a grade school response, but it’s the truth. I merely finished it to protect you. And it’s neither of our faults that the rest of the bar got involved. I’m not responsible for that.”
“And, again, none of that matters. He’s not trying to beat you in court. He’s going to beat you by draining your bank account dry.”
“Well, then, he’ll be disappointed. I’ve worked from nothing and for nothing, more often in my life than not. I mean, I do quite well for myself, but I don’t measure success in dollars. He can take what I have. I’ll just go on and earn it back. It’s just money.”
Hudson would like to think Taggert would have better things to do than target some unknown chef in a little mountain town. But he’d looked the man in the eye. Guys like Taggert did not like to lose. Most especially to someone they felt was beneath them. He suspected Moira was right. Sighing, he added, “So, if that is his strategy, can we simply refuse to play? I mean, let him file whatever he wants to file. What if we simply don’t respond? Worst case is our lack of response will force it into a courtroom, where he will lose, or get it thrown out, right? We’re not the ones trying to win anything.”
“It doesn’t always work that way. Your attorney can be compelled to respond. Listen, Hudson, there are a million ways this guy can get you. A frivolous lawsuit is merely one of them. Certainly, the easiest one for him, as it doesn’t require him to do anything.”
Hudson leaned back in his chair, all thoughts of enjoying a late morning breakfast with an adorably disheveled maid of honor forcibly replaced by the dawning of a new reality he had no desire to embrace. “So, what’s the worst case then? What if I refuse to hire an attorney, represent myself. Just saying,” he added when she immediately began to shake her head. “My point being, if he’s trying to bankrupt me and I represent myself, then I’m out nothing. Except sound legal advice, I know. What I’m asking is, if I remove that outcome from the table, then what does he do to counter me? They can’t penalize me without some kind of trial, and if we get into a courtroom, it’s over—he loses.”
“I’ll be honest and say I don’t know what other options he might be willing to exercise. I don’t know the laws in this state. Even if this was happening in my own home state where I am licensed to practice law, I’d be recommending you find someone who carries much bigger guns than I do.” She smiled at that. “And given I’ve only been practicing a little over a year, that would be pretty much everybody.”
“But you are a trial attorney,” he said.
She lifted her eyebrows. “Does Seth really talk about me that much?”
Hudson lifted a shoulder, and his smile returned. “He’s proud of you. With good reason.” He saw that flicker again, and this time he didn’t let it pass. “Is there something else going on?”
“Why do you ask that?”
Her expression had become immediately guarded, which told him he’d hit the nail right on the head.
“The few times I’ve said something flattering about you in regard to your occupation, let’s just say you’ve looked a little . . . conflicted? Maybe that’s not the right word. Is it that now you’re in the job, you’ve come to realize it’s not for you? Because now that I’ve met and fed every person in your immediate family, I think I can safely say they’d support you no matter what.”
She shook her head. “It’s not that. I love my job. Is it possible to know you want to be a lawyer right from childhood? That would describe me.” She found a smile then. “Other kids were outside playing and I was watching Law & Order
marathons, imagining how I’d do my closing statement.”
Hudson laughed. “I completely understand that remark, only with me it was The French Chef
with Julia Child.
” Moira let out a short laugh at that, and he said, “She was like the crazy aunt I always wanted and never had.”
Moira studied him for a moment, as if wanting to say something, but judiciously holding her tongue.
“What?” he asked easily, liking that she wanted to know more about him. He wanted to know everything about her.
“In the bar last night, you told Max you didn’t have a mom.” She lifted her hand. “It’s none of my business, and if you don’t want to talk about it, please don’t. It’s just, you said something about helping your sisters earlier and so I was curious.” Her smile came naturally this time, and made her green eyes dance. “Being an inveterate snoop is also a key attribute of a born defense attorney.”
“I thought that was reserved for journalists and detectives.”
“Them too. But we all need to get at the truth.” Her smile turned a shade dry. “Just for different reasons.”
He smiled in response. “I don’t mind. It’s not a sensitive subject, or I wouldn’t have offered it up to the likes of Taggert. I’m not embarrassed or proud of the fact. I didn’t have any say in the matter. It’s simply my story.”
“That’s a good way to look at it.”
He shrugged. “The only way, as I see it. Wanting it to be different won’t change it. Best to just own it.”
She plucked another strawberry from her plate. “So, what is the story of Hudson Walker?” She bit into the strawberry and his pulse leapt. Not because she’d done so in any particularly vampish manner. Far from. She looked a fair fright and she ate like a woman starved. Both of those things were insanely attractive to him. A woman who wasn’t freaked out by looking less than her best and didn’t enter every calorie she consumed into some dieting phone app? Where did he sign up?
He relaxed back in his seat now, but not before picking up the strawberries from his own plate and popping one, then the other in his mouth. She made him hungry. Starved, in fact. But given the events that had led them to this morning breakfast together, the last thing he could do right now was come on to her, no matter how sincerely and respectfully. So, instead, he gave her the part of him he could, and perhaps that was the more important part to share first, anyway. “I’m just a poor orphan boy,” he told her, smiling as he said it. “I was raised in a convent orphanage in Queensland by a group of nuns.”
Moira burst out laughing, then immediately clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh my gosh, that was so rude,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I just . . . You said earlier about having experience helping your sisters with their clothes—”
Hudson busted out a laugh at that. “Ah, no, I wasn’t referring to the nuns.”
Their gazes caught, and Moira giggled, which turned into a snicker, that might have included a short snort, which sent Hudson off laughing again, and the two of them ended up laughing until they were left gasping for breath.
“I really . . . am . . . sorry,” Moira said, still struggling to breathe evenly. “So wrong of me.” She sipped her now cool coffee, trying to get her voice back, and he drank the rest of his orange juice, trying to do the same. “So,” she said at length, attempting a sober tone, “how many sisters did you have?”
“Twenty-four,” he replied, every bit as soberly, then smiled at her stunned reaction. “That’s how many girls were in the mission with me. I was the oldest, and the only boy. The orphanage was for girls. I was left on their doorstep when I was two. There was no place for me to go, so I stayed on with them until they could find me a place, either in another mission or with a foster family.”
“And they never did?” Her expression softened.
“It’s okay,” he told her. “I was like their big brother and, well . . . I liked it. I mean, I went to school, I had plenty of mates, some of whom I still consider to be good friends. But at the end of each day, I went home to a place where I was looked up to, I was needed, I was important. And I was good with that.”
“How old were you when you left? Or did you stay on? Is that where you learned to cook? When did you come to the States?”
Hudson laughed. She was so serious, so concerned, so wanting to get to the bottom of it, of him. And he was very okay with that. “I was seventeen when the mission closed. I had graduated school and it was ruled that I be considered emancipated. My first job at age fourteen was flipping burgers in a take-out place owned by a retired couple.”
“Fourteen?”
“Minimum age for employment was thirteen. And granted, I shouldn’t have been anywhere near a hot griddle, but I looked older than I was, and I could be a bit of a charmer when I put my mind to it.”
She laughed. “I’m not having a hard time at all believing that.”
“Why, thank you,” he said, with a wink. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She didn’t blush, but neither did she say anything to negate his first openly flirtatious comment, and he tucked that information away, too, and went on. “I started experimenting with their very limited menu on my own time.” He grinned. “Eventually the owners caught on and put a stop to that, but I’d done a little experimenting in the kitchens at the mission, too. Mostly it was out of desperation for better tasting food.” He smiled. “Or food that had any taste at all. They didn’t have any cookbooks, so I really was flying blind. That’s when I discovered my patron saint, Julia Child.”
Moira grinned at that. “And then you went on to take over that burger joint, right?” she said, only half teasingly.
He shook his head. “I decided that my life had been untraditional enough, so when I finished my senior secondary years—your junior and senior high school years here, I believe—I went off and applied to a cooking school. Not the best of the best, but one I could afford, or at least work my way through. Which I did.” He smiled. “There I learned that I wasn’t so much drawn to fancy French cooking, or fancy anything. I just wanted to make food we all enjoy taste better.”
“And you thought we Americans would be the best test subjects?”
He laughed, shook his head. “I became something of a vagabond. Traveled the world, worked long enough in one place to learn what I could about the cuisine, or the parts that interested me, anyway, then took off for another place. Wherever I could afford to get to on whatever I’d saved up. I’d been to the States a few times before this go.”
“This . . . go? So, you’re just temporary here?” She looked around the renovated train car. “A lot of trouble to go to for a short-term stay, isn’t it? I mean, you can’t be much older than me. A few years maybe? So I’m assuming you don’t stay all that long in one place.” She looked back at him. “How long have you been here?”
“Christmas Eve was my one-year anniversary, actually.” His smile widened at her surprise. “I was first hired on as a chef at the little inn in town. Fought my way through a pretty gnarly snowstorm to start that job, in fact. Ended up swapping spots with a man who’d applied to work for Sawyer—your brother’s friend who—”
“Owns the microbrewery and part of the mill,” she finished for him with a smile. “Yes, I know who Sawyer Hartwell is. He and my brother served in the military together before Seth came here.” She contemplated the berries on her plate, but kept her hand on the cool compress and looked back at him. “So, you swapped spots with the cook Sawyer hired?”
Hudson nodded. “Turned out he was well suited to the more intimate details of running the inn’s kitchen.”
“And the gastropub at the mill was born,” she finished for him.
“Something like that,” he said, wondering if he was imagining the bit of distance that had entered her tone. Or maybe it was the way she was now sitting a little straighter. More temporary guest than relaxed friend-in-the-making.
“So . . . what will you do with this place when you move on?”
Ah
, he thought. She thought he was temporary here. Of course, she was a mere visitor as well, but the fact that knowing he might move on had changed her perception of him made him wonder why it mattered to her at all. He was interested in Moira Brogan. And that interest was rapidly growing the more they talked. Perhaps he wasn’t alone in that growing attraction, which was a happy discovery indeed. And yet, maybe she had it right, and it was best to put a bit of distance between them and keep that attraction at bay, given they’d go their separate ways sooner than later.
Except “maybe” had never been in his vocabulary. And he was a firm believer that things worked out as they were supposed to, but only if you went after what you wanted in the first place. So, she lived in Seattle. He’d lived in a lot of places. Geography was the last thing he’d ever let get in his way before, so he wasn’t about to look at it as an obstacle now.
“If and when that time comes, I’ll worry about it then,” he said, which was the honest truth.
“If?” she asked. “Are you looking to put down roots?” She smiled politely. “Or more railroad tracks as the case may be?”
“I’ve never not been looking, if that’s what you mean. I traveled, explored, roamed, because I could. It’s not like a life mandate or anything.”
“Never been tempted to stick in one place?”
“Until I landed in Blue Hollow Falls? No.” He held her gaze, wanting her to know that while he might like to live in the moment, he wasn’t frivolous or irresponsible, either.
“No one ever tempted you to stick around?”
He grinned then. “Are you asking if I’m unattached?”
She didn’t blush or appear embarrassed, and her stock with him continued to rise. He liked a woman who was direct and met life head on. “No,” she said, just as bluntly, and apparently as honestly as he had.
Careful what you wish for there, mate.
“I’m just curious about your outlook, that’s all. I’ve . . . made a few impulsive decisions in my life recently, and they didn’t turn out so well.” She said it simply, owning her failures without appearing to be asking for sympathy, or worse, pity. “So, I guess I’m just kind of fascinated that you’ve made such a success of a life spent following your heart, or your gut, or both, most likely.” She let out a dry laugh then, and the self-deprecation was charming. Somehow even more so, considering her outfit, the bedhead, and day-old mascara. “I’m a pretty goal-oriented person. I like to make plans, and stick to those plans. But, I guess I came to a turning point, and for the first time ever, I finally made a few bold, completely unplanned choices. The end result of which was a complete train wreck.” Her smile widened. “You, on the other hand, wander the globe on a whim, and end up making the wrecked train into an amazing home.” She batted her eyelashes, and said, “So, you can understand my curiosity.”
He laughed and shook his head at the same time. “Maybe we define success differently. Or have different expectations. I live simply; my wants are few. I want to feed people and make them happy. I want them to know just how good food can taste, how comforting a nice warm meal can be.” He grinned. “I guess you can take the orphan out of the mission, but you can’t take the mission out of the boy.”
“A caretaker,” she said musingly. “It does all make sense when you put it like that.”
He leaned forward and propped his elbows on the table. “And you want to right wrongs, seek justice, or at the least, fairness. Does that come from playing mediator at home, in a house full of people?”
“If you mean in any sort of disturbing way, no. My family is close—”
“No, I didn’t mean it that way. I know Seth, and have heard many, many stories about the Brogan clan. I know you come from a home filled with love.” He smiled. “But it’s also a very filled home. Or was when you were growing up. That’s all I meant. Some folks are born leaders, meaning bossy. Some are born mediators, some born people pleasers. And some just want things to go right for a person.” His smile widened. “Or wrong, if they so deserve.”
Moira laughed then. “I don’t know that I ever saw it that way, but you might be on to something there. I definitely wanted life to be fair, even when that wasn’t possible.”
He caught her gaze and held it again. “So, what were those big, bold decisions?” he asked easily, but quietly, inviting her confidence, rather than demanding it. “Are things really a train wreck? Or more of an unexpected fender bender?”
“A little of both, I suppose,” she said thoughtfully, but with a brief smile as well. Then she broke his gaze to look down at the napkin she was twisting around her fingers. “Nothing I can’t overcome,” she added, “if that’s what you’re asking.” She looked up again. “But big enough that I have to rethink pretty much my whole life. Or at least what I’m willing to do to get what I want.” She smiled ruefully. “Just as soon as I figure out what that is now.”
“Irrevocable loss then?”
“One of them yes. The other, no. Although it might as well be. I could go and try again, I just . . . don’t know if I want to.”
“Failure does put a hurting on confidence,” he said. “It can feel like rejection, when it might be a host of other things in reality, and you just the unfortunate victim.”
“That’s just it,” she said. “It used to be that failure, or the threat of it, made me work harder. To prove the people who doubted me wrong, or even to prove to myself that my own doubts were wrong. Failure challenges your confidence, sure, but sometimes you can use that same threat to your confidence as a whole new kind of challenge. Like . . . how can I get back to where I was? Sometimes that feels impossible. When you lose a court case, someone’s life is affected, sometimes—maybe most of the time—permanently. Usually not in a good way. And there is no going back and doing it over. It’s done. And you have to live with that irrevocable outcome and yet somehow regain your confidence to take on someone else’s big, potentially life-altering case. It’s a crushing blow on so many levels when it doesn’t go as you hope, but I knew the first time it happened that if I wanted to be a lawyer, and more importantly, a good one, then I had to find a way to deal with the losses and not let them gut me. You can’t just quit and walk away. And no lawyer wins every trial.”
“But this isn’t about a lost case.”
She looked surprised by the insight, but shook her head.
“And you can’t apply whatever methods you’ve come up with to deal with the court losses, to help in this situation?”
She didn’t immediately shake her head. She took the compress off her arm and laid it, folded neatly, on the edge of her plate as she seemed to consider the question. “Well, for the job-related issue, I suppose I should.” She looked up from the napkin she’d now twisted into a tiny spiral. “I’m still asking myself if I want to, I suppose.”
Hudson nodded in understanding, while simultaneously working to swallow his own regret. The job-related issue.
That meant the other train wreck in her life was personal. She’d asked if he was unattached, but he hadn’t asked the same of her. Seth had made a point of mentioning she was, but that didn’t mean she’d been single for any length of time.
“I suppose no amount of coping mechanisms work when it comes to matters of the heart,” he said, not sorry that he’d probed that possible wound. His attraction wasn’t showing any signs of slowing down, so best he knew what he was dealing with sooner than later.
Her gaze jerked to his, surprise in her clear green eyes.
He smiled briefly. “You said one was work related, so I assumed.”
A rueful smile curved her lips. “You wouldn’t be wrong.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and he meant it. She was sharp, funny, beautiful, determined. She should have it all. The career, the love of her life, whatever she wanted. She certainly didn’t seem like a personal train wreck, the type of person who found it impossible to get out of his or her own way.
“Thanks,” she said. “That’s kind of you to say.”
“I wouldn’t wish a broken heart on anyone.”
“Do you have experience with that?” She smiled then, and it was a clear attempt at diverting the topic away from herself. “Globe-trotter that you are, have you left a string of them in your wake?”
She was clearly teasing, so he took no offense. “I’ve always been honest and upfront about my vagabond ways, as you called them. But hearts can get involved despite the best of intentions.”
She studied him. “But not yours.”
Now it was his turn to look surprised. “No,” he admitted. “Not in the way you mean. But it’s painful no matter which one is hurting, the one who falls, or the one who doesn’t. It’s not something I’d wish on anyone, either.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said quietly. “It’s foolish really, in my case anyway. It was a holiday romance that was supposed to be a fun, light, flirty diversion while I enjoyed my time in Ireland. We’d both agreed on that. Only, like you said, I couldn’t seem to keep my heart out of it. But neither could he. Or, at least, I thought that was how it was going. It was just so good, you know?” She met his gaze again and he saw the pain in her eyes now. “Who wouldn’t want to do whatever was necessary to make that last forever?”
“An idiot,” he said, the words out before he could think better of them.
She let out a little laugh at that, mercifully—for his sake—missing the meaning behind his response. “It would be lovely if that were true, and certainly easier to move on if he’d been some kind of player. It’s funny, because as much as I miss him, that’s not the issue at hand. It’s trusting my own judgment. I mean, he was a great guy. Honest, sincere. He could have taken gross advantage of me had he wanted to, truly broken my heart. I was certainly foolish enough to give him that power. But he was, well, perfect in that way, too. The moment he realized that I was falling and he wasn’t, he broke it off, and in the gentlest, kindest way possible.” She let out a sad laugh. “It almost made it worse, because I couldn’t even hate him for it. But that’s just it. In truth, I have moved on. It was ages ago. What I’m struggling with is . . . move on to what?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I didn’t pick a loser. I didn’t fall for someone who treated me poorly. My judgment was fabulous, right? And therein lies the train wreck.”
“Because poor judgment can be adjusted,” he said. “But when you’ve done all the right things . . . ?”
“Exactly. Then it’s you, personally, who didn’t measure up,” she said. “What can you take from that? Except you’re somehow not enough and you don’t have the first clue what to work on, how to fix it, what to do to ensure it doesn’t happen again. Because he seemed to really like me. We had a grand time. So why did only one of us fall? What do I do about that?”
She seemed taken aback by his immediate grin, so he said, “You don’t do anything,” he said. “And that’s good news.”
She rolled her eyes, but paired it with a wry smile. “Seriously?”
“Quite seriously.” Impulsively he reached across the small table and took her hands in his. Her gaze flew up, but she didn’t slide her hands free. “Yes, it’s true, you fell, he didn’t. Let me ask you this, though. If he’d fallen and you hadn’t, would you have counseled him to somehow change himself so he’d have a better shot at it next time?”
“No, of course not, I—” She broke off, and the light dawned. “Oh,” she said, somewhat faintly, looking away, looking inward. “Oh,” she repeated, as the truth of it sank in. She looked back at him. “You’re right. I fell. And he didn’t. Maybe it really is as simple, and as awful, as that.” She looked at him. “I wanted something tangible I could work on, could fix. Goal oriented, remember?” she added, her smile faint, but sincere. “So, you’re saying it’s just a great big crapshoot and there’s no way to safeguard against getting your heart smashed to smithereens.”
Hudson smiled. “More or less.” They both shared a brief laugh, but he tugged on her hands when she’d have looked away again. “Moira, there are so many reasons why someone doesn’t commit. At the end of it all, though, would you want a man who wasn’t as head over heels for you as you were for him?”
“Of course not.” She studied his eyes, as if hoping she’d find the answer she was looking for. “The thing is, though, what if I don’t ever find him?”
“You can’t find what you’re not looking for.”
“What if it’s just heartbreak and train wrecks? Because I don’t know how long I could do that. I’m not sure I can give endless pieces of my heart away, only to have them handed back to me.”
“Falling in love is never something to be sorry for. It’s not a failure to love someone, any more than it is to be a failure if they don’t love you in return. Letting yourself be vulnerable, taking that risk, that’s what makes us human.”
“Says the man who doesn’t stay in one place long enough to really risk anything,” she said, though not unkindly.
“You gave your heart while on holiday,” he countered, catching her gaze when she lifted it to his. “Time is the least accurate and reliable measure for how long it takes to fall in love. For some people, it can take months, years.” He realized he was running his fingertips over the back of her hand, and slowly lifted them away. “For others, it can happen in the blink of an eye.”