Night Mist. Helen R. Myers

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      Who was he and what was going on?

      Listen to yourself. One minute she was thinking about the viability of ghosts and the next she was weaving her own dark mystery, all because a withdrawn and more than slightly abrupt neighbor bore a striking resemblance to someone whose blood was, then wasn’t, on her hands? Get a grip, Gentry. Your sense of reality is slipping. Fast.

      “I think that’s as dry as it’s going to get.”

      The terse observation made Rachel stop, look and almost groan. Lost in her thoughts, she’d lingered too long over dabbing away the water from the wound. Embarrassed, she tossed the tissues into the trash and dug in her bag for the ointment and the rest of the things she needed.

      All she needed was for the man to think she was coming on to him. With a build like his, he probably got more propositions than he knew what to do with, especially if he spent a lot of time walking around in nothing more than unsnapped jeans. “Sorry,” she muttered, “it’s been a long day.”

      He didn’t bother replying.

      Creep. Maybe he had the physique to turn heads, but he needed a personality transplant to be regarded as human.

      For an instant, a shameful instant, she almost wished he and Joe Becket could change places. Why was it always the good ones who got hurt the worst? But as quickly as the thought came, she was overwhelmed with self-disgust.

      “This won’t sting. In fact, it’s quite soothing.” As she spoke, she turned back to him and accidentally bumped into his rock-hard bicep. The tube went flying out of her grasp.

      Jay Barnes’s face was a granite mask as he bent to retrieve it. “Are you sure you’re a doctor?”

      “Would I be toting this thing around if I wasn’t?” she replied, gesturing to her bag.

      “Who the hell knows. In any case, you’re the clumsiest, edgiest one I’ve ever met.”

      “I’m surprised you’ve known any,” she shot back. “In fact, I’ve about come to the conclusion that you’re the type to cauterize your wounds over a flame to prove you’re tough and don’t need anyone.”

      “At least I don’t put my patients through small-talk hell.”

      “Listen to who’s criticizing—Mr. Personality.”

      After a slight pause, he replied, “I guess I don’t have any room to complain.”

      His quiet response not only surprised her, it made her uneasy. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but for a moment he almost sounded like…No, she told herself, smoothing ointment on the cut. She wouldn’t start that again. “Look, I, um, I’ve been under considerable stress lately.”

      “Did it have anything to do with the strange way you behaved when you walked home tonight?”

      Her hands shook slightly as she opened a gauze pad and secured it in place with more gauze. “I thought I saw you watching me,” she said, when she could control her voice. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s impolite to spy on other people?”

      “I couldn’t sleep.”

      “I’m not surprised.”

      “Meaning?”

      Indignation made her braver, just as it made her fingers more efficient. “It’s probably residual guilt over all the people you’ve fried with your acidic tongue.”

      “Wrong. Unlike you, most people take the hint when I make it clear I want to be left alone.”

      “Take heart, Mr. Barnes,” she replied, having had enough of this foolishness. “As soon as I finish this, you can go back to your precious privacy with my wholehearted approval.”

      She worked quickly and without mishap after that, despite being acutely aware of his gaze following her every move. Only when she secured the gauze with a last piece of tape did he break the lengthy silence.

      “So, what upset you out there?”

      Although outwardly casual, something about the repeated question from a man who had no use for small talk had Rachel’s antenna going up again. She decided this time it wouldn’t be wise to meet his intense eyes. As it was, they seemed to have X-ray abilities. “Nothing much. I spook easily, that’s all.”

      “People who do don’t usually walk home from work at 2:00 a.m.”

      “They do if they don’t own a car,” she countered, hoping he’d been awake those times when Cleo had given her a ride. The less she had to explain, the sooner she could change the subject.

      But he didn’t mention Cleo, or other sightings, seeming interested only in tonight. “It sounded as though the last truck that passed you on the bridge came close to hitting you. Or was there something else?”

      She was grateful they were no longer in physical contact, and focused on replacing her things in her bag. “What do you mean?”

      “Last week somebody lost a wooden pallet off a flatbed trailer and it messed up a truck’s tires before the driver saw it. There’ve been more than a few animals getting run over up there, too. The fog’s treacherous.”

      “Yes…and actually, it was me the trucker was warning. I, um, was crossing the road and thought I had more time to get out of his way.” It wasn’t totally a lie. In a way. Even so, Rachel wasn’t comfortable with having to shade the truth. She’d worked too hard to keep her life honest and simplified.

      “Better be careful,” he continued, his tone almost whimsical. “You could get knocked off that thing, fall into the creek, and no one would ever think to look for you down there until it was too late.”

      “I’ll remember that.” She didn’t know how she got the words out. There was no ignoring that his words could be construed as a slickly phrased threat. Did he have intimate knowledge of such goings-on? Her hand had a fine tremor as she took one last package from her bag. “Well…I’d say we’re through. The bandage should be changed within the next twenty-four hours, and I’ll give you these.” She tried to shove the sample envelope of painkillers into his hand without touching him. “These should take care of any further discomfort you might have.”

      “I don’t take drugs.”

      “This is very mild. The equivalent of an over-the-counter dosage.”

      “I don’t want them.”

      She’d had enough. Throwing the pills back in her bag, she zipped it closed. “Fine. If you’ll excuse me, I’m dead on my feet and ready for bed.”

      But he didn’t get out of her way. Instead, he tapped the fingers of his good hand against the doorjamb and eyed her with a mixture of doubt and indecision. “Look, I don’t mean to be ungrateful, okay? I guess I’m just not the kind of guy who deals with people well.”

      Whereas Joe Becket had seemed caring and interested. No, no…she didn’t want to think about that, about him anymore tonight and shook her head dismissively. “We all have our weaknesses.”

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