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.”
“Breakfast, 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.
“Do 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.”
“Any sensible woman knows that a statement like that only presents a challenge.” He bent down to read her initials, “J.E.H.”
“Jo Ellen Hathaway,” she told him in hopes of hurrying him along.
“It’s been a pleasure being rescued by you, Jo Ellen.” He offered a hand, amused when she hesitated before clasping it with hers.
“Try Zeke Fitzsimmons about that tune-up. He’ll get the Jeep running smoothly for you. Enjoy your stay on Desire.”
“It’s already started on a higher note than I’d expected.”
“Then 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.”
“No.” 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 bed and deliberately—like a child daring sidewalk cracks—walked through the sun bars. In the narrow bathroom he stepped into the white tub, yanked the cheerfully striped curtain closed, and ran the shower hot. He washed the sweat away, imagined the panic as a dark red haze that circled and slid down the drain.
The room was thick with steam when he dried off. But his mind was clear again.
He dressed in a tattered short-sleeved sweatshirt and ancient gym shorts, then with his face unshaven and his hair dripping headed into the kitchen to heat water for instant coffee. He looked around, scowled again at the carafe and drip cone the owners had provided. Even if he could have figured out the proper measuring formula, he hadn’t thought to bring coffee filters.
At that moment he would have paid a thousand dollars for a coffeemaker. He set the kettle on the front burner of a stove that was older than he was, then walked over to the living room section of the large multipurpose room to flip on the early news. The reception was miserable, and the pickings slim.
No coffeemaker, no pay-per-view, Nathan mused as he tuned in the sunrise news on one of the three available channels. He remembered how he and Kyle had whined over the lack of televised entertainment.
How are we supposed to watch The Six Million Dollar Man on this stupid thing? It’s a gyp .
You’re not here to keep
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.”
“Breakfast, 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.
“Do 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.”
“Any sensible woman knows that a statement like that only presents a challenge.” He bent down to read her initials, “J.E.H.”
“Jo Ellen Hathaway,” she told him in hopes of hurrying him along.
“It’s been a pleasure being rescued by you, Jo Ellen.” He offered a hand, amused when she hesitated before clasping it with hers.
“Try Zeke Fitzsimmons about that tune-up. He’ll get the Jeep running smoothly for you. Enjoy your stay on Desire.”
“It’s already started on a higher note than I’d expected.”
“Then 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.”
“No.” 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 bed and deliberately—like a child daring sidewalk cracks—walked through the sun bars. In the narrow bathroom he stepped into the white tub, yanked the cheerfully striped curtain closed, and ran the shower hot. He washed the sweat away, imagined the panic as a dark red haze that circled and slid down the drain.
The room was thick with steam when he dried off. But his mind was clear again.
He dressed in a tattered short-sleeved sweatshirt and ancient gym shorts, then with his face unshaven and his hair dripping headed into the kitchen to heat water for instant coffee. He looked around, scowled again at the carafe and drip cone the owners had provided. Even if he could have figured out the proper measuring formula, he hadn’t thought to bring coffee filters.
At that moment he would have paid a thousand dollars for a coffeemaker. He set the kettle on the front burner of a stove that was older than he was, then walked over to the living room section of the large multipurpose room to flip on the early news. The reception was miserable, and the pickings slim.
No coffeemaker, no pay-per-view, Nathan mused as he tuned in the sunrise news on one of the three available channels. He remembered how he and Kyle had whined over the lack of televised entertainment.
How are we supposed to watch The Six Million Dollar Man on this stupid thing? It’s a gyp .
You’re not here to keep
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