Home For A Hero. Mary Wilson Anne

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      “Got them,” he said.

      She pulled back and shut the door. She had an hour, maybe a bit more, but before she left, she was going to find the owner of Lost Point.

      Chapter Two

      Luke walked away with his arms full of damp clothing and hurried back to the utility room. Having Shay Donovan in his house was unsettling, but her taking a shower here…? He had to be rational about the situation, but it made him edgy. No one had been in the house since he’d arrived, except for the cleaning crew. When they arrived, he left and didn’t come back until they were long gone.

      He stuffed the clothing into the dryer, and dropped something. He reached down to pick up a pale pink bra, stared at it, then shook his head. He should have just driven her away from here. Now he was stuck with company for at least an hour.

      Closing the dryer door, he turned it on. As the drum began to tumble, he returned to the kitchen and took time making some coffee—he could use it. He thought of Shay shaking from the cold and knew she probably could use it, too.

      Luke stayed in the kitchen as long as it took to brew the coffee, then found two mugs and poured the steaming liquid into them. God, he was acting as if he were civilized. That almost brought a wry smile to his face. Him? Civilized? He didn’t think so. When he got back to the bedroom, the door to the bath was still shut. He crossed to it and knocked.

      “Yes?” he heard her say faintly from within.

      “There’s coffee out here and a robe in there somewhere in the closet. Help yourself until your clothes dry.”

      He expected her to just thank him, but he didn’t expect her to slide the door back enough to look out at him. He sure as hell didn’t expect her to smile at him, either, or to show the dimples on either side of her full lips. She reached for the closest mug, gripped it, then said, “Thank you so much. You’re really a lifesaver in more ways than one.”

      Then she closed the door and he was left standing there with his own coffee and wondering what he’d gotten himself into inviting her into his house.

      When he’d gotten his first clear look at her, he’d felt uneasy. Tall and slender, with eyes that weren’t really dark but a rich shade of amber mixed with green, she’d been so vulnerable. The freckles across her straight nose had stood out against her pale skin, and her hair—a rich chestnut shade—although soaked and matted to her temples, had started to curl at the ends. But even then, he could tell that if Shay Donovan were dry and clean and warm, she’d be a striking woman to look at.

      Luke went to the great room and headed to the French doors that led out onto a secondary patio with a stunning view of the sound. He opened one of the doors, but just stood in the entry, letting the deep chill touch his face and invade the room. He had been alone so long that he’d made his own rules.

      He could have dealt with finding a seal on the beach. He wasn’t a people person at all, and now he just wanted this over with. He wanted Shay Donovan back in town in some trendy bed-and-breakfast, dry and safe. He didn’t want her here, and he sure as hell didn’t want her getting any closer.

      SHAY KNEW ABOUT loneliness and being alone, but the man who had found her on the beach seemed almost empty. As she dried off, she realized he was angry, too. He hated her being here. While showering, Shay had wondered if he were the mysterious caretaker. Maybe her presence would jeopardize his job, or maybe he was working at an isolated estate because he just simply hated people, period.

      She looked around the expansive bathroom, appreciating the stone walls and the large tub at the top of two steps. The doorless shower that was big enough for four people to use at once had been heavenly. She had barely noticed the bedroom, but it was just as imposing. With its stone walls and massive dark furniture made it was practically medieval, she thought with a smile. It wouldn’t surprise her if there were dungeons below. That thought made her smile more.

      She found the closet, a walk-in as large as most bedrooms but with few clothes in it. A couple of pairs of jeans had been folded and stacked on a side shelf, three or four chambray shirts were on hangers and a dark jacket hung in the far corner. Near the door were two white terrycloth bathrobes and she grabbed the closest one and slipped it on. It was soft and luxurious and she almost sighed. She belted it and stopped to take a look at herself in the multiple mirrors that lined the wall to the right. She wished she hadn’t.

      She was pale and the freckles she’d always hated stood out starkly against her skin. Her hair was a tangled mess, even though she’d done her best to finger-comb it. She turned away, wondering where the roughly dressed man who’d found her on the beach lived. Surely not in this suite or in this house. Based on what she’d seen so far, this whole estate didn’t fit him. Then again, she didn’t fit in here, either. Luxury and wealth weren’t keystones in her life.

      She turned away from the mirror and went into the bathroom, reluctant to leave the heat from the shower that lingered. But the man wanted her out of here, and she wanted to get some answers from him before he drove her into town. It wouldn’t be so bad to know his name, either, she thought and smiled to herself. She padded barefoot into the bedroom area. It was dark outside and it wasn’t until she glanced at her wrist that she realized her watch must have fallen off when she’d been in the water.

      Her wallet! If that was gone, too, she had no money, no credit cards and no way to pay for a hotel for the night or a rental car in the morning. Her cell phone was either still on the boat or at the bottom of the sound. The soles of her feet felt tender as she headed for the bedroom door. The man had been right—the steps had been too rough for her, but she’d stubbornly insisted on climbing them anyway. Now she was paying the price.

      She made her way back to the utility room, noticing more details of the house now, but seeing nothing that did away with her original impression of luxury and wealth. When she stepped into the great room, she was struck by how massive the fireplace really was as it extended to a ceiling that looked as if it belonged in some chapel or church. Painted on the stone were intricate murals that she thought had to have been done when the house had been built.

      Just as she was about to leave, she stopped when she saw the man standing in front of an open door. He was staring out at the night, and the cold was seeping into the room, making it almost uncomfortably cool.

      “Hello,” she said. Shay knew that the man hadn’t heard her at first, not until she was within about six feet of him. “I’m done,” she said.

      He turned quickly, and for a moment his gaze looked unfocused, then it quickly sharpened on her.

      She thought she could read people, that she could pretty much tell what was going on in another person’s mind, but this man gave away nothing. His eyes hid any indication of what he was feeling, and despite the crackling intensity she could sense, his face seemed oddly neutral, even when he was being abrupt with her.

      It struck her that she’d seen people like this man when she’d been in therapy in the months following Graham’s death. She’d reluctantly visited a psychologist and gone to group therapy for a while. A man who’s name was Roy had been there. He’d come twice, then had never shown up again. This man’s expression was an echo of Roy’s, down to the totally unreadable eyes. Shay tried to remember why Roy had been there, but couldn’t.

      Unable to take the odd silence any longer, she said, “The shower was wonderful. Thanks so much.”

      He nodded, his usual way of responding to any thanks СКАЧАТЬ