Child of Grace. Irene HannonЧитать онлайн книгу.
as if seeking…help?
Although he couldn’t see much of her face under the large hat, and her eyes were hidden behind the glasses, he was picking up fear. Not just leftover fear from being startled, but panic almost. She seemed poised to flee. As if she thought he might become violent.
Did he look that angry?
Maybe. More than one medic had told him he was intimidating—especially when aggravated. Plus, at six-one he usually had a height advantage in any confrontation. And today he had a big one. The woman across from him couldn’t be more than five-three, five-four. But he wasn’t that mad about her being on his beach.
He forced his taut features to relax and summoned up a smile. “I’m not in the habit of…”
“This is a private beach.”
At her accusatory tone, his smile faded. “Yes, it is. My beach, as a matter of fact.”
Her brow wrinkled. “No, it’s my beach. Maybe you got turned around coming through the grass.”
“Maybe you did.” He gestured toward the top of the bluff with his mug. “I’m staying at Mark Lewis’s place. I got in late last night.”
The creases marring her forehead deepened. “I live next door.”
Luke didn’t try to hide his skepticism. “Mark told me the owner of that house had died and the place was empty.”
The muscles in her throat contracted as she swallowed. “The owner was my grandmother. She passed away in October. I inherited the house and moved in four months ago.”
Although the woman still seemed nervous, she tipped up her chin and held her ground.
Spunky little thing.
Luke took a sip of his coffee as he mulled over her claim. Mark had been out of the country for months, on an overseas assignment for his company. It was possible he wasn’t up-to-date on his neighbors. And this woman didn’t appear to be lying. Nor did she seem to be any happier about sharing the beach than he was.
He surveyed the strip of sand. It was narrow, but wide. They ought to be able to make this work.
“I’ll tell you what—why don’t we start over, seeing that we’ll be neighbors for a few weeks?” Once more he tried out a smile. Setting his mug on the sand, he moved toward her and extended his hand. “Let me introduce—”
Her grip on the towel tightened, and she took another step back.
Flummoxed, he stopped a few feet away, his hand still extended. What was with her, anyway? Maybe they hadn’t gotten off on the best foot, but he hadn’t done anything threatening.
As she secured the towel around her shoulders, his gaze dropped to the pink spot on her hand. It was turning red, and he suspected a blister would soon form.
He dropped his hand and nodded toward hers. “You need to put that under cold water. And it would help to cover it with sterile gauze. Cutting off the air will ease the discomfort and protect the skin. I have some if you need it.”
“Thanks. I’ll be fine.”
She worked her feet into her flip-flops, then retrieved her mug and book and shoved them into the beach bag—all the while keeping tabs on him. Slinging the canvas tote over her shoulder, she folded up her chair, tucked it under her arm and started toward the stairs.
The thought of her trying to navigate the steep, narrow steps in her condition while juggling the chair and tote sent a chill down Luke’s spine.
“Why don’t you let me help you with some of that?” He fell in behind her.
Throwing an alarmed glance over her shoulder, she picked up her pace. “I can manage. I do this all the time. Thanks.” The expression of gratitude was tacked on, like an afterthought.
He fell back, watching as she plunged into the tall grass and followed the faint path, holding his breath while she labored up the wooden steps. When she took a quick look back toward the beach from the top, he raised a hand in farewell.
She ignored him.
Five seconds later she disappeared, heading toward the small bungalow tucked among the trees that he’d noticed from his bedroom window this morning.
Talk about strange encounters.
Shaking his head, he picked up his mug and moved farther down the beach, near the edge of the property line. As far away from the pregnant blonde’s spot as possible. They might have to share the beach, but it was big enough for both of them. Better yet, his privacy should be safe. His neighbor didn’t strike him as the warm, friendly, talkative type.
As he unfolded his chair, Luke tried to look on the bright side. If he had to have a neighbor, at least she wasn’t part of some large, noisy family with a passel of kids who would disrupt his coveted and much-anticipated beach time.
Of course, it was possible his aloof beach mate had a husband or boyfriend or kids stashed in the bungalow. But some sixth sense told him she was here alone.
So where was the baby’s father? Why wasn’t he here to help her carry stuff up and down the steps?
Not your problem, Turner.
Determined to put his solitary neighbor out of his mind and enjoy the expansive view of the sparkling lake, Luke settled into his chair. He’d spent the past ten years caring about people in distress. Sometimes too much. Combat medicine was brutal, the injuries grievous, the mortality rate high. Eventually, the loss of life ate at your gut. He was here to heal. To keep a promise. To move on.
The last thing he needed was one more person to worry about.
As she held her hand under the cold running water in her kitchen sink, Kelsey Anderson focused on the dazzling expanse of blue water stretching to the horizon.
In the four months since she’d moved into the sturdy little cottage that had been built to withstand the brutal winter winds and ice of the Michigan lakeshore, this view had always calmed her. It carried her back to the carefree visits of her youth, when she and her parents and sister had come here for two or three weeks every summer. And it was the same view that had consoled her when she and Gram came alone all the summers after her mom died, while her dad had been working and her older sister had been busy with her part-time job.
But thanks to a tall, dark-haired man with broad shoulders, a powerful chest and biceps that were more scary than impressive, it didn’t console her today.
If she had to have a neighbor, why couldn’t it have been a single woman? Or an older couple? Or a family?
Why did it have to be a strong, lone male?
A shiver ran through her, and she turned off the tap. But memories, not cold water, accounted for her sudden chill. Memories she’d been trying hard to contain. And she’d done a good job of that.
Until today.
Taking a calming breath, she examined the coffee burn on the back of her right hand. A blister had formed, and when she flexed her fingers the patch stung. Her neighbor had suggested she cover it with gauze, but how many people kept gauze in their house? A Band-Aid would have to suffice.
As she rummaged through her first aid supplies in the bathroom vanity, she tried not to let the stranger’s appearance ruin her day. But she always looked forward to her solitary Saturday mornings on the beach. She relished those quiet early hours before she opened her quilt shop for the weekend.
That peaceful interlude wasn’t going to happen today, though.
And perhaps not again until her neighbor left.
Unfortunately, he’d mentioned being here for a few weeks. That would take them to the end of summer—and the end of morning weather conducive to sitting on the beach.
But maybe the allure of the sand and surf would wear off for him after a few days, and she’d have it to herself again.