Sanctuary by Nora Roberts Page B

a hazard that near the river.”
    â€œI’ll remember that.”
    â€œI took care of setting up the telephone yesterday. All calls will be billed directly to the cottage and added to your bill monthly.” She opened another drawer and took out a slim folder. “You’ll find the usual information and answers in this packet. The ferry schedule, tide information, how to rent fishing or boating gear if you want it. There’s a pamphlet that describes the island—history, flora and fauna—Why are you staring at me like that?” she demanded.
    â€œYou’ve got gorgeous eyes. It’s hard not to look at them.”
    She shoved the folder into his hands. “You’d be better off looking at what’s in here.”
    â€œAll right.” Nathan opened it, began to page through. “Are you always this jittery, or do I bring that out in you?”
    â€œI’m not jittery, I’m impatient. Not all of us are on vacation. Do you have any questions—that pertain to the cottage or the island?”
    â€œI’ll let you know.”
    â€œDirections to your cottage are in the folder. If you’d just initial the contract here, to confirm receipt of the keys and information, you can be on your way.”
    He smiled again, intrigued at how rapidly her southern hospitality was thinning. “I wouldn’t want to wear out my welcome,” he said, taking the pen she offered him. “Since I intend to come back.”
    â€œBreakfast, lunch, and dinner are served in the inn’s dining room. The service hours are also listed in your folder. Box lunches are available for picnics.”
    The more she talked, the more he enjoyed hearing her voice. She smelled of rain and nothing else and looked—when you looked into those lovely blue eyes—as sad as a bird with a broken wing.
    â€œDo you like picnics?” he asked her.
    She let out a long sigh, snatched the pen back from him, and scrawled her initials under his. “You’re wasting your time flirting with me, Mr. Delaney. I’m just not interested.”
    â€œAny sensible woman knows that a statement like that only presents a challenge.” He bent down to read her initials, “J.E.H.”
    â€œJo Ellen Hathaway,” she told him in hopes of hurrying him along.
    â€œIt’s been a pleasure being rescued by you, Jo Ellen.” He offered a hand, amused when she hesitated before clasping it with hers.
    â€œTry Zeke Fitzsimmons about that tune-up. He’ll get the Jeep running smoothly for you. Enjoy your stay on Desire.”
    â€œIt’s already started on a higher note than I’d expected.”
    â€œThen your expectations must have been very low.” She slid her hand free and led the way back to the front door. “The rain’s let up,” she commented, as she opened the door to moist air and mist. “You shouldn’t have any trouble finding the cottage.”
    â€œNo.” He remembered the way perfectly. “I’m sure I won’t. I’ll see you again, Jo Ellen.” Will have to, he thought, for a number of reasons.
    She inclined her head, shut the door quietly, and left him standing on the veranda wondering what to do next.

SIX
    O N his third day on Desire, Nathan woke in a panic. His heart was booming, his breath short and strangled, his skin iced with sweat. He shot up in bed with fists clenched, his eyes searching the murky shadows of the room.
    Weak sunlight filtered through the slats of the blinds and built a cage on the thin gray carpet.
    His mind stayed blank for an agonizing moment, trapped behind the images that crowded it. Moonlit trees, fingers of fog, a woman’s naked body, her fanning dark hair, wide, glassy eyes.
    Ghosts, he told himself as he rubbed his face hard with his hands. He’d expected them, and they hadn’t disappointed him. They clung to Desire like the moss clung to the live oaks.
    He swung out of