Birthright by Judith Arnold Page A

oven at the same time. If it was hot enough for air-conditioning, it was too hot to cook.
    In the meantime the temperature was usually pretty comfortable on the deck off the back of the house. Once the sun dropped below the trees, a breeze would lift off the river and cool the deck down. A cold beer helped, too.
    He was sprawled on his hammock in a pair of denim cutoffs, his shirt hanging open and his feet bare. He’d taken a few sips of beer and lost himself in the pages of a thriller. He’d had a long, tiringweek, and he didn’t want anything more than a quiet evening and a good book.
    Well, of course, he wanted her. He always did. Which might have been why, when she suddenly appeared at the bottom of the steps that led down from the deck, he assumed he was hallucinating.
    “I saw your light,” she said.
    He sat up slowly, the hammock swaying under him. The light above the back door spilled over her, giving her an almost ethereal appearance. She had on a long white dress with a white sweater over it, and her hair and face were pale. Behind her, the forest was dark.
    Why had she come here? To torture him without even realizing she was torturing him? To tempt him with something he couldn’t have?
    “How could you see my light?” he asked. His house was barely visible from the road during the day. After sunset, no way could she have seen it. The deck faced the river, not the road.
    “I was walking along the river,” she explained.
    “I saw the light through the trees.”
    Walking along the river. At night. In a dress. Either she was insane or something serious was going on. He didn’t think Lily Holden was insane.
    “Come on up,” he invited her, setting his book on the table next to his beer and pushing himself out of the hammock. She climbed the four steps to the deck and hit him with her shy smile, the one that pinched his nerve endings until they stung. “You want a drink?” he offered, gesturing toward his beer.
    Her gaze ran the length of him. He knew he wasn’t much to look at in his grungy after-hours attire, butif she could stomach him all sweaty and breathless in his gym clothes, she could handle this. It was too hot to put on trousers, although he supposed he could button his shirt. But to button it in front of her would suggest that he was embarrassed, which would likely embarrass her. He let it be.
    “A glass of water would be nice,” she said.
    All right. Something serious was going on. She didn’t look hurt or even upset. But her eyes were sad, her smile pensive. She’d taken a potentially dangerous walk along the river at night, and now she wanted a glass of water.
    “Have a seat,” he said, waving at the plastic sling chairs that occupied the part of the deck not consumed by his hammock. They weren’t fancy like her wicker porch furniture, but they were a hell of a lot more comfortable. “I’ll be right back.”
    He entered the house, grabbed a square of paper towel from the spool above the kitchen sink and ran it over his face, hoping he didn’t smell too much like bug repellent. Then he filled a glass with water, added a couple of ice cubes and hesitated. If the bugs started biting, should he invite her inside? His house was really small—a kitchen, a main room and a tiny bedroom and bath. It was plenty big enough for him, and would be big enough for two as long as the second person wasn’t Lily Holden.
    God, she was beautiful. Or maybe she wasn’t. Maybe he was the only person who was transfixed by her beauty. Maybe his attraction to her was perversely egotistical; maybe he saw something of himself in her.
    In any case, he couldn’t have her come inside. Ifthe mosquitoes started swarming, he’d let them suck their fill.
    He carried the water out to her with a smile. “Thanks,” she said before taking a delicate sip.
    He lowered himself onto the hammock, sitting on the edge with his feet planted on the smooth boards. He’d reconstructed the deck with guidance from Charlie