Free Hard Landing by Marliss Melton Page A

clapped a hand to her heart.
    "Where'd you come from?" she marveled.
    "Thin air." He paused to examine her face, no doubt seeing all the signs of strain she had failed to erase. "Want to walk with me?"
    The last thing her aching feet wanted to do was to take a walk, but his suggestion eased her concern that someone would see them sitting together. "Sure."
    Side by side, they started down the path that curved away from the common area to wind among the trees and all around the periphery of the park. The leaves had thinned, allowing sunlight to slant through the green canopy and dapple the tar strip under their feet.
    Rebecca looked down at her practical nursing shoes, wishing she'd taken the time to change. While Bronco, in his BDUs, resembled a poster model advertising the glamorous life of a Navy SEAL, she looked nothing short of frumpy in her light blue scrubs. Then again, this wasn't a date. The article she wanted to show him was tucked inside her scrub's front pocket.
    To her gratification, he didn't bring it up right away.
    "How was work?" he asked, slanting her an admiring glance.
    "Rough," she admitted, considering her long day. "We had several car-accident victims, including a five-year-old girl who should've been in a booster seat but wasn't. Her collarbone was broken, but luckily not her neck. The mother, who was driving intoxicated, broke her pelvis. We had no choice but to report the incident to social services."
    His burnished eyebrows came together. "You think they'll take the girl from her mother?"
    "No, I think they'll assess the home situation first. The mother could probably use some counseling—she's all of twenty-one years old, so she's still learning herself."
    Brant's mouth twisted into a cynical-looking smile. "Where's the father?" he asked.
    "Not in the picture as far as I know. Some men aren't cut out to be fathers." She thought about her own dad.
    "True. Doesn't mean they have the right to disappear, though."
    Their footfalls sounded in tandem, making hers indistinguishable from his.
    "That's what my father did," she heard herself confess.
    He shot her a startled look. "I'm sorry. I thought he just died young."
    "He did that, too, but first he left—just disappeared one day, when I was thirteen years old." She shrugged. "The next time my mom and I saw him was when we claimed his body, five years later. Turned out, he'd been living in Minneapolis all that time."
    His jaw muscles jumped. "That must have sucked."
    "It's fine. I don't mind talking about it. I think he did his best to be the domestic type, and he just wasn't cut out for it." She smiled to convey her acceptance of the situation. "At least his body found its way back to us. There's an unclaimed body here at this hospital." She nodded in the direction of the building where she worked. "A homeless man who looks a bit like you, as a matter of fact."
    "Like me?" He sounded perturbed to hear it.
    "Same age, same hair color, that kind of thing. I keep hoping someone's going to claim him, but no one has, yet."
    He made a thoughtful sound in his throat. A heavy but not uncomfortable silence enveloped them as they followed the path. She was certain he would ask what she'd discovered about Max. Instead, he surprised her by saying, "My dad left, too, before I was born. He's still alive, though. Quinn Farley—maybe you've heard of him?"
    She frowned. "No, should I have?"
    "Maybe. He used to be a champion bull rider. Now he's a commentator for the Professional Bull-Riding Network."
    She slowed to a stop, forcing him to turn around to face her.
    Noting that his father's last name was different than his, she longed to pull more details out of him, but the fact that she was only now learning about this meant that he kept it a guarded secret. A yellow leaf floated to the ground between them. "Thanks for telling me," she said, simply.
    He sent her a small smile. For a moment, they regarded each other with silent understanding. Then, knowing the time had