Scandalous Mistress. Leslie Kelly

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      She sounded as though she was speaking more to herself than to him. Interesting that a woman this attractive didn’t feel like she fit in anywhere.

      “You’d think with all this loneliness, you’d at least get some privacy here,” he said with a smile, trying to lighten the mood. “But you can kiss that goodbye. You might not have people peeking into your windows, but they’ll be commenting on your every move once you get a mile from home.”

      “Oh, joy. You make this sound so appealing, I can’t imagine why it took me almost thirty years to move here.”

      “I’m sure you’ll survive for two months.”

      She stared at him directly. “Will you survive forever?”

      Mike rubbed his jaw, not answering immediately. He thought about what had driven him here; he couldn’t go back to that way of life. Finally he said, “I don’t know about forever, but I’m hoping for a few years, anyway.”

      “Well, then I hope it works out for you.”

      Mike lingered to talk for a while longer. He gave her directions to town, told her where the school was, and about the difficult parking situation there. He also warned her which specials to avoid at the most popular diner in town, and enjoyed how her soft laughter rolled over him.

      After he’d finished, he stood up, taking the cup to the sink and rinsing it out. “Guess I should leave you to it.”

      Rising as well, she said, “Thank you so much for helping me get here. I appreciate you not giving me a ticket.”

      Lindsey led him toward the door, pushing a slight smile to her lips, but he noticed the slump of her shoulders and knew she wasn’t totally ready to be alone. He understood what she was feeling. Coming here, so far away from everything that was familiar, had been tough for him, too. But Lindsey was not only in a new home, in a new job, she was also extremely worried about her friend—every word she’d said about Callie Parker and her infant son revealed that.

      He should go. He’d left the island a little after dawn, hadn’t even been in to the office yet. For all he knew, there’d been an armed robbery of the Main Street Bank, or worse. Maybe one of his officers—like Ollie Dickinson, who resembled Gaston from Beauty and the Beast, and shared his temperament and brain power—had taken over his office. Ollie had been on the force for a couple of years and had fully expected to get the job Mike had “stolen.” The man hadn’t exactly been friendly to Mike.

      But Mike wasn’t ready to leave Lindsey, and it had nothing to do with the fact that she suddenly looked a little like a sad, lonely waif. For a few minutes there, when they’d sat at the table, sharing coffee and conversation, she’d perked up, brightened, even laughed. Now...well, he hated to see her seem so weary. Part of him wanted to pull her in his arms and hug her, convince her it would be all right, that she hadn’t moved to the ass end of nowhere.

      Well, she had moved to the ass end of nowhere, but honestly, it wasn’t that bad.

      Barring a hug, though—and he was barring that—spending more time with her proved irresistible. What harm was there in lending a little moral support to a newcomer who was just as much a fish out of water as he’d been when he’d moved here? Hell, he still was that way.

      Whatever Ollie had done to his office, even if he had to undo legal damage...it was worth it to be with her a little longer.

      “Did you bring all your stuff in your car?” he asked.

      “Yes. Since the place was described as furnished, I only packed clothes, my laptop and some personal things. Oh, and books. If I’m going to be teaching science, I’ll need to brush up.”

      “Why don’t I help you bring it in? From what I remember of science books, they weigh a ton.”

      “You really don’t have to do that.”

      He waved off her objections, already turning to head out the front door. Reaching her car, he spied some boxes on the backseat, and bent to hoist one. Lindsey, sensibly—he liked that—didn’t argue further, instead just opening the trunk and grabbing things, too.

      As she’d said, she hadn’t brought a lot with her. A couple of suitcases, a laptop and printer, some sheets and towels—he could understand wanting those around her to give her a sense of home.

      Then there were the books.

      “Damn, you said ‘books,’ you didn’t say ‘library,’” he said as he hefted a fourth heavy carton out of the trunk and carried it into the cottage. “You planning to teach the kindergartners about quantum physics?”

      She shrugged, walking over to place her own box on the floor beside a table in the living room. The table was already covered with the first few they’d brought in. He had no idea where she intended to put all the books; the place certainly didn’t have an office. Or bookshelves. Or much more floor space.

      “I want to do some work on my own project while I’m here.”

      She didn’t elaborate and he didn’t question her. Instead, he went back outside to bring in the last container—a laundry basket containing detergents and cleaning supplies. When he returned, he said, “Were you a Girl Scout? You came prepared.”

      “Definitely not a Scout,” she said with a twist of her mouth. “You had to pay money to join the Scouts, and no way would my parents have ever done that for me.”

      He frowned, hearing a jaded sadness in her voice. Obviously she had some issues with her folks.

      Having been raised by loving, generous parents, who had given him and his brothers as much as they could afford to give, he really couldn’t imagine growing up that way. But it wasn’t exactly a conversation for the first day they’d met.

      “I’m just glad I don’t have to start using those cleaning products right away,” she said, pushing a few long strands of hair away from her face. She yawned broadly. “I could really use a nap.”

      “It’s the seasickness. But you should probably have a decent meal before you lie down.”

      She grimaced. “Even if I wanted to, that would be tough. I’ve got Mrs. Wymer’s cookies and, I think, some mints in my purse. That’s about it.”

      “No Twinkies?” he asked with wag of his brows.

      Remembering their earlier conversation, she smiled. “I’m afraid not.”

      “There’s always a diner.”

      “If the Saturday lunch special is meat loaf, I’d consider it,” she said with another yawn as she put one more box on top of the others on the table. “Otherwise, I’m taking a nap.”

      “Understood.” He turned to leave, realizing there was no sense in delaying things further, especially since she obviously just wanted to sleep.

      Right before he reached the door, he glanced back and saw the precarious pile of boxes had reached critical mass. It had been leaning before. Now, with the one she’d just placed there, the whole thing was teetering. Watching him, she hadn’t even noticed.

      “Look out!”

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