Hard to tell without a bit more probing.
“I, uh, don’t know why you want to bother—aside from some sense of professional obligation. We didn’t exactly part on the best terms after our last conversation.”
He shoved his free hand in his pocket. “I might have overreacted at the lighthouse that day.”
He’d overreacted?
Not even close.
“The blame is all mine. I can get kind of emotional about causes I believe in.”
“I figured that out.” A trace of amusement glinted in his blue irises as he urged her forward. “If we stand here talking any longer, we’re going to be soaked. We could have been halfway to your house already if we’d left five minutes ago.”
Give it up, Marci. Whatever his reasons, let him take you home. It’s what you want him to do, anyway.
“I bow to your logic. Let’s go.” She started walking again.
He held her arm until they reached the truck, then gave her a boost up.
Another whiff of the subtle masculine scent she’d first noticed on the Suzy Q, after the service for Ned, wafted her way.
The one that had fixed itself in her memory like a barnacle to a boat hull.
And it was very, very potent.
She cracked her window and sucked in some cool air as her pulse stumbled.
This was not good.
Ben Garrison might have much to recommend him—but he wasn’t for her.
Maybe, at another time, if their paths had been destined to intersect for more than a handful of weeks and her memories from Atlanta no longer had the ability to spook her, exploring the electricity zipping between them might have been an option.
But this wasn’t that time.
And letting herself get carried away would be a bad mistake.
It was a shame, though. If their timing had been better, who knew where this might have led?
She sighed as Ben circled around the front to the driver’s seat.
Wishing the circumstances were different was foolish. She needed to accept reality and be strong.
So when they got back to the house, she’d thank him for all his help today—and for his willingness to work with them on the lighthouse project—then send him on his way with a polite handshake and a goodbye at her front door.
No matter how much she wanted to invite him in.
11
He didn’t want to say goodbye at her front door.
As Ben rounded the last curve on Pelican Point Road, he slid a glance toward Marci.
She’d been quiet on the short ride back from the urgent care center. Now, her lower lip was caught between her teeth, and parallel grooves scored her forehead.
Not a promising sign that she was going to invite him in.
In fact, she probably wanted to ditch him as fast as possible once they got back.
And that would be a prudent move—for both their sakes—even if a different outcome held more appeal.
But while his reasons for walking a wide circle around emotional women were sound, why was she reluctant to spend time with him?
Could be she just didn’t want to form an attachment to a guy who was only passing through . . . yet that didn’t explain the flicker of fear in her eyes when they’d tumbled together onto the ground after the guttering gave way. Or all the security at her house.
Was there a more disturbing reason she wanted to keep her distance? A bad experience somewhere in her history?
If so, could he convince her to tell him about it?
He risked another peek at her furrowed brow.
Nope. Not based on that off-putting expression.
And why should she?
People didn’t share personal secrets with new acquaintances.
“Annabelle’s back in the tree.”
At Marci’s comment, he shifted mental gears and squinted through the mist. “She’s on her own this go-round.”
“Unless she’s hurt.”
“What are the odds that would happen twice in the space of two weeks?” He swung into the driveway.
“Very low.” She gave him a slow smile. “But I bet you’re going to check anyway.”
Maybe she knew him better than he thought, despite their short history.
“I might take a quick look.”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
Was that a compliment?
“You approve of my compulsiveness?” He set the brake.
“No. Your compassion.”
His hand stilled.
Okay.
It was a compliment.
And while mist might be obscuring the sun, his day inexplicably brightened.
“Wait here while I scope out the situation. Then I’ll walk you to your door.”
Without waiting for a response, he slid out of the truck and strode over to the base of the tree.
As he approached, the amber-eyed feline gave a loud meow.
She was in the exact same spot she’d occupied two weeks ago—but this afternoon she didn’t appear to be injured.
“Sorry, Annabelle. You’ll have to find your own way down today.”
She gave another plaintive yowl and extended a paw toward him.
“I’m on to you, kitty. Marci clued me in. Enjoy the view up there—until you get hungry and decide to come back to earth for a meal.”
With that, he pivoted, retraced his steps to the truck, and opened Marci’s door.
“No rescue today?”
“Nope. Fool me once and all that. Except the night I arrived in town she wasn’t fooling, so I’ll cut her some slack.”
“You wised up faster than I did. She got me quite a few times with that trick until I figured out her scam. What some creatures won’t do for a little attention.”
He stiffened as Marci scooted out of the truck, but he managed to mask his reaction before she looked up at him. No reason to let her know she’d touched a nerve with a remark meant in jest.
Forcing up the corners of his lips, he waved a hand toward her door. “Better get inside. The mist is heavier up here.”
“And it’s chillier.” She fished her keys out of her purse. “You must be cold.”
While he was standing within touching distance of her, inhaling that distinctive whisper of jasmine?
Not one bit.
“I’m fine.”
“I’ll give you your sweatshirt back once we get to the porch.”
Suspicion confirmed.
She wasn’t going to ask him in.
Stifling a foolish surge of disappointment, he took her arm and guided her toward the door. “No hurry. You can give it to me tomorrow when
