The Protector's Promise. Shirlee McCoy

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СКАЧАТЬ laughed, the sound only adding to Grayson’s irritation. “Look, maybe you find it funny, but I’ve had a rough couple weeks and I’m not in the mood to deal with a vagrant who’s decided this is home. So, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate you coming over and dealing with it yourself.”

      “Hey, sorry, man. I know things have been rough. Tiffany and I have been praying for your brother. Most of the people in Lakeview have. How’s Jude doing?”

      “He’ll be in the hospital for another couple of weeks. Then in a rehab facility. It’ll be a while before we know if he’ll ever walk again.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      “Yeah. Me, too. Now, are you coming over here or not?”

      “I was already on my way when you called. Seems the new renter thinks someone is trying to break in.”

      “Renter?” Surprised, Grayson stepped away from the door.

      “Moved in last week. A nurse, her daughter and sister-in-law.”

      “No husband?”

      “Nope. Rumor has it, he’s deceased, but I haven’t actually met the woman or heard the truth from her.”

      “She was out in the yard and saw me coming through the shrubs that separate our property. I must have scared her half to death.” Grayson’s anger fled, and he glanced at the darkened window. He could picture the poor woman cowering just out of sight, a phone clutched to her ear as she prayed the police would arrive before he broke down the door. He had a vivid image in his head—a woman in her forties or fifties. Widowed with a teenage daughter and an older sister-in-law who lived with them. Short. Round. Salt-and-pepper curls.

      Terrified.

      “You scared her enough that she called nine-one-one. I’ll have my dispatcher tell her you’re a concerned neighbor and there’s nothing to worry about. See you in a few.” Jake hung up, and Grayson hesitated. Should he knock again? Walk away? What was the protocol for this kind of thing?

      Before he could decide, the door cracked open, an old-fashioned chain pulled tight across the space. “Grayson Sinclair?”

      “That’s right.”

      “It appears we’re neighbors, then.” Her voice held a touch of Ireland, its husky timbre reminding Grayson of cool fall evenings and warm laughter.

      “It appears so. I’m sorry for frightening you. I’ve been out of town for a couple of weeks and hadn’t heard the place had been rented out.”

      “And I’m sorry for calling the police on you. I get nervous when strangers chase me across the yard. Hold on.” She closed the door, and Grayson could hear the chain sliding free. When she opened it again, he caught his breath in surprise.

      His new neighbor was not in her forties or fifties.

      Not round.

      Not sporting salt-and-pepper curls.

      Not anything like he’d imagined her to be.

      “I’m Honor Malone, Mr. Sinclair. It’s good to meet you. Despite the circumstance.” Her half smile pulled Grayson’s attention to lips that were soft and full.

      He jerked his gaze to her eyes, irritated with himself. Obviously, driving all night had left him a few brain cells short of clear thinking. “It’s good to meet you, too. Jake didn’t say when you’d moved in.”

      “A week ago. Mr. Silverton mentioned that the place had been empty for a long time. I’m not surprised you were worried about squatters.”

      “We have had a problem with vagrants a few times over the years. That and kids using the house as a party resort.”

      “Let’s hope that you won’t have either problem again. Come in and have a cup of coffee while we wait for the sheriff.” She turned and walked through the tiny mudroom, not bothering to wait for his response.

      Grayson followed, intrigued by Honor Malone despite the voice whispering in his head and reminding him that he’d washed his hands of relationships and women months ago.

      He paused at the threshold of the kitchen, impressed by the changes he saw. Honor had already begun making the old bungalow into a home. Layers of grime had been scrubbed from the countertops, revealing bright blue vintage tiles. The faded wood floor had taken on a high shine that must have taken hours of labor. Cabinets that Grayson would have been willing to testify under oath were beyond salvaging, were now a bright white.

      “The place looks great.” He spoke out loud, and Honor turned to face him, her cheerful yellow flannel pajamas at odds with the strain he saw in her face. Despite her smile, she looked worn, her eyes deeply shadowed.

      “Thank you. It’s been a labor of love.”

      “It’s a lot of work to put into a rental property.”

      “Not if you’re renting to own.” She grabbed coffee cups from the cupboard, the sleeves of her pajamas falling back to reveal delicate wrists. Her fingers were long and slender, her left hand bare.

      “You plan to buy this place?” The surprise in his voice must have been obvious, because Honor stiffened.

      “Is there some reason why I shouldn’t?”

      “It’s…” Neglected? Past hope? A money pit? “Going to take a lot of work.”

      “What doesn’t, Mr. Sinclair?”

      “It’s Grayson, and you’ve got a point. Most things worth having take hard work to achieve.”

      “I told myself that a hundred times while I was removing layers of wax from this floor.” She smiled, her face going from girl-next-door pretty to stunning in the beat of heart.

      More intrigued than ever, Grayson studied her face. Heart-shaped with high cheekbones dusted with freckles. Full lips and wide green eyes tilted at the corners. Not conventionally beautiful. There was something there, though. Something that made him want to keep looking.

      “What?” She frowned, her cheeks turning scarlet.

      “I was expecting a drifter. Instead, I found a beautiful woman.”

      “And I was expecting an intruder and instead found a man who knows how to turn a sweet phrase.” She busied herself gathering mugs, cream and sugar. Apparently not at all impressed by his flattery.

      He supposed that was for the best. He wasn’t in the market for a relationship. Even if he were, flattery wasn’t the way he’d pursue one. He believed in the direct approach.

      A soft knock saved Grayson from having to reply to Honor’s comment. Jake. Finally. Grayson could offer another apology to his friend, then be on his way. His life was already complicated enough. He didn’t need to add more trouble to the mix.

      And something told him that’s exactly what Honor Malone would be if he let her—trouble.

      Compelling, alluring, distracting trouble.

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