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Children shrieked with laughter and chased each other through the worried adults, huddled together in small groups. The scent of coffee hung in the air, mingled with the aroma of a huge pot of chili. There were cots dotting the main floor and volunteers streaming in and out of the kitchen. But she had eyes for only one of those people pitching in to help.
Ryder Currin.
Angela hadn’t seen him since that fund-raiser for the Houston TCC. The night she’d overheard the ugly rumors about Ryder’s affair with her mother. The night she’d walked right up to him and slapped him across the face in front of everyone.
She closed her eyes briefly at the memory. Yes, she’d been furious. But more hurt than anything else. How could she be so attracted to a man who had slept with her mother?
“Oh, God...”
“Are you okay, honey?”
Angela took a breath and smiled at the woman looking at her through worried brown eyes. African American, Mavis was short, curvy and her gray hair was cut close to her head, the better to display huge gold hoops dangling from her ears. She kept the shelter running, donations pouring in and made sure everyone who stepped through the doors felt welcome and important.
Angela considered herself fortunate to have such a friend. “Yes, Mavis, I’m fine. Thanks. Just tired, I guess.”
And she felt ashamed of herself for saying so. Mavis had been cooking all night, serving the people who staggered in wet, bedraggled, terrified and had hardly sat down for a cup of coffee.
Angela had been working with Mavis here at the shelter for a few years now, and the woman never looked tired, despite having at least twenty years on Angela. The woman was an inspiration and, apparently, indefatigable.
“Oh, you go and sit down for a bit.” Mavis gave her a one-armed hug and a pat. “Have some tea. Good for the body, good for the soul.”
Right now she could use both. Angela was tired, true, but that wasn’t really bothering her. She’d been tired before and would be again. It was Ryder Currin haunting her. She couldn’t stop looking at him. Watching him.
“I can plainly see who you’ve got your eye on,” Mavis mused with a knowing smile.
“What? Oh.” Caught, she simply stopped talking. No point in trying to deny it after all.
Smiling, Mavis said, “I saw Ryder helping you bring in the extra cots from the supply room.”
He had. In fact he’d helped her several times during the storm. He’d been polite, respectful. He hadn’t once brought up the TCC party or the slap—though Angela had the feeling he wanted to talk to her. She just hadn’t given him the chance, because she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to hear what he might say. But in spite of everything, there was a simmering burn between them she couldn’t deny. Just looking at him from across the room made her heart beat a little faster, fanning the flames of a slow simmer in her blood.
“Ryder’s a good man,” Mavis said. “God knows, he’s been a big help to us here at the shelter.”
“Well, we’re all doing what we can in an emergency.”
“Oh no, honey.” Mavis shook her head and patted Angela’s forearm. “It’s not just this storm. Ryder’s been helping us out for years.”
“Really?” Stunned, Angela stared at her friend. How could she not have known that? She’d been working with the shelter for a long time and until today, she’d never run into Ryder. She wouldn’t have pictured him as a man interested in volunteering. Giving back. Was that terrible of her? In her defense, she’d never seen her own father care about anything outside the business and the family name. Heck, most men with the kind of wealth Ryder Currin had amassed were only interested in getting more.
“Oh yes. You saw that new Viking stove we’ve got in the kitchen? Ryder bought that for us.” Mavis gave the man a smile, though he didn’t see her do it. “His late wife, Elinah, God rest her, was very involved here at the shelter. And he came along most times, I think because he was just so crazy about her.”
She paused and the expression on Mavis’s face became reflective, sympathetic. “Since he lost her, I think this shelter represents his last link to her. He donates food, those cots you carried in, so many things. I couldn’t name everything he’s done for us. And he never even accepts a thank-you. A good man,” she said with a wink, “and a stubborn one. He’s had his troubles, we all do. But he reaches out to people, and that says a lot about him as far as I’m concerned.”
