What is it with women’s clothes not having pockets? Probably, men want us to carry purses so we can tote their shit around.
She started walking again, calm, cool—as if it wasn’t odd she’d run in the hotel and then magically appeared in the front parking lot.
The man stretched, trying to appear equally casual.
She had another five strides to the first step leading to the porch.
That’s when something shifted against her leg.
The license is sliding.
The skort tights weren’t as tight as she thought.
She took an awkward step forward and the license slid another millimeter.
Shit.
Locking her knee, she hobbled, peg-legged toward the stairs.
I look ridiculous.
Logan Sandoval, boy detective, couldn’t help but look at her now. How could he not, when she looked like a pirate creeping up on him?
“Hey,” she said.
Arrrrg, me matey.
“You okay?” he asked, brow knitting.
She smiled. “I’m fine. I forgot my—” The word wallet bounced through her brain because she’d been staring at one, but she rejected it. “—phone, and might have tweaked my knee.” She offered a goofy smile to demonstrate how silly she felt.
You know us girls, always forgetting things...
“Do you need help up the stairs?”
She flashed him her most disarming smile. He was a little young for her charm to hit with full effect, but it was worth a shot. Maybe he had a thing for cougars.
“That’s so sweet of you...” Shee glanced at the stairs.
Hm.
If she bent her leg and then straightened it again to mount that stair, there was an excellent chance of the license fluttering to the ground between them.
That would be awkward.
But she couldn’t say no and then loiter at the bottom of the stairs, whistling. Hell, even if it wasn’t weird, she had no pockets to thrust her hands into. You couldn’t loiter without pockets. Women never loiter. There’s too much to do.
“Would you mind?” she asked.
He walked down the steps and steadied her as she headed up with her left leg jutting to the side like a branch.
Walk this way...
Step. Clump. Step. Clump.
Shee reached the top of the stairs and Logan released her hand.
She batted her eyelashes. “Thank you, I so appreciate it. I didn’t catch your name?”
“Bill.”
“Bill. Thanks. I’m Hunter. I appreciate your help.”
His face twitched.
He knew she was supposed to be Shee.
They shook hands and she clomped her way inside with Bracco’s assist.
“Blackbeard,” he muttered as he opened the door.
She threw him a side eye.
Now, he’s a funny guy.
Shee limped to the front desk and glanced outside. The young man had left, no doubt to turn off his car. Or maybe sit in there in case she tried to leave again.
Shee pulled the license from her skort tights and set it on the counter.
“Got your phone?” she asked.
Croix stared at her.
“Okay. Stupid question. Take a picture of this and see what you can find on this guy.”
“I’m not the DMV.”
“Just do it.”
Croix took a photo of the license.
“I’m going to go out the back again. When he comes in looking for me, stall him while I drive away.”
“I already did that once. He’s going to think I have a crush on him.”
“So?” Shee pushed the license toward her. “Tell him you found his license on the ground.”
Shee jogged toward the back door. She made her way around the building and, peering through a Clusia hedge, watched Logan wander back inside. She bolted to her car and pulled of her spot.
In the rearview she spotted Bracco blocking the door, pretending he didn’t notice the young man trying to get out as she peeled from the parking lot.
She grinned.
I like that Bracco.
&&&
Chapter Twenty-Four
“There you are,” mumbled Shee, spotting Mason on the beach.
Croix said Mason had taken his dog, so there were only so many places he could go. Shee surmised he’d go to the lighthouse, discover the park there wasn’t dog friendly, and then head for the beach.
She drove along A1A until she spotted his truck with the California license plates. She parked beside a plumbing van, whose driver had picked the public lot for a napping spot, plucked a small set of binoculars from her glove compartment and walked to the beach to search for Mason like a proper creeper.
Totally healthy behavior.
She found him tossing a piece of driftwood to his rambunctious pup. He’d throw and then jog away as the dog sprinted in the opposite direction, clearly practicing with his new prosthesis. Somewhere along the way he’d changed into shorts and a t-shirt. The sun glinted off his hardware.
The dog was adorable, wiping out seemingly on purpose when it dove to grab the stick, rolling in the sand and then bouncing back to its feet and bolting back like a self-returning bowling ball.
So cute. I’m spying, he brought bait. All’s fair.
The breeze picked up, but even close to the ocean it remained hot. As long as she didn’t exert herself more than raising the spyglasses to her face, she’d be okay, but Mason jogging...soon he’d be all sweaty and sparkly...
Mason crisscrossed his arms and reached toward his waist to grab the hem of his tee.
That’s right. Take it off for Momma...
He lifted his shirt, his muscular torso flooding her mind with memories of their time together in Coronado. Her visions blinded her, until she had to lower the binoculars and catch her breath.
Why’d he show up now? When I’m already overwhelmed with Dad...
By the time she raised the spyglasses again, a new player had joined the scene. A well-groomed woman around her own age, wearing a neon pink
