Home For A Hero. Mary Wilson Anne

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СКАЧАТЬ she could see that tension in Luke, and something she should have thought about from the start came to her in a rush. She was alone with a stranger, a man she didn’t know. Her stomach clenched. She made herself take a breath, calm down, and speak gently, the way the therapist had spoken to Roy. “That’s okay, I can open the gate,” she said. “Not a problem at all.” Before she’d wanted to stay longer, but now she knew she just wanted to get into Shelter Bay.

      SHAY’S OFFER WAS SIMPLE, but Luke had heard that tone before, far too many times. The don’t-make-him-mad placating tone that people took when they were afraid of upsetting someone they perceived as irrational. He hated it. “We can’t leave because the fog’s too heavy. I almost didn’t see the gates in time to stop.”

      “Okay.” Still the tone of her voice ran over his nerves in the most unpleasant way. “Then what do you think we should do?”

      Stay right here. But he didn’t want that. He wanted her gone. He’d lived on Shelter Island long enough to know that driving in this fog was a stupid thing to do. If they’d left earlier, maybe he could have taken her into town before it had gotten this bad. Now there were no choices left except to stay right here…both of them. He’d learned the hard way that there were few options in this life. His last decision had been to stay where he could be found or come here. He’d chosen here, Lost Point. From then on, his options had been simple—get up in the morning or don’t, live or don’t.

      He knew she was staring at him, waiting for something. Anything.

      “What are we going to do?” she asked again patiently.

      “Go back,” he finally said. He’d drop her where he’d picked her up, park the truck, then figure this all out. But as he turned the wheel, she grabbed at his arm. “Wait, we can figure out—”

      He didn’t have any control over his reaction. He jerked away from her touch so sharply that he pulled the wheel left—hard. He braked but it was too late. He heard the squeal of tires on the wet cobbled drive, then a jerk up at the curb, followed by the truck hitting the ground with a thud.

      The front end of the old truck started to sink into the muddy ground immediately. The land was so soggy from the persistent rain over the past week, the tires spun uselessly.

      “We’re stuck,” he said, thinking that was one of the most obvious truths he’d ever stated. He grabbed the door handle to get out.

      “What happened?” she asked.

      He couldn’t tell her that she’d caused it, that her touch had panicked him. Instead, he lied as he jumped out, “I don’t know.”

      He took one look at the situation, then reached back into the truck to turn off the engine. “Mud up to the axles,” he said without looking across at her.

      “This isn’t exactly a 911 incident, so I guess using the phone to call for a tow truck is out?”

      “Yeah,” he muttered. As out as driving her into town as soon as the fog lifted.

      “Don’t you have a cell phone or something?”

      “No.”

      “Everybody has a cell phone.”

      “Then where’s yours?” he asked, looking right at her.

      She shrugged. “It…it got lost when I went overboard, but it was dead before that.”

      “I rest my case,” he murmured.

      “Well, if you don’t have a working phone and there’s no cell phone, what does the owner do when he—?”

      “I don’t know,” he snapped, his nerves frayed by her constant questions about the owner.

      She sank back in the seat. “Then what?”

      He knew what they had to do, and he hated the thought. “We’ll just have to wait until morning, then I can walk into town.”

      “That’s an awfully long walk,” she said.

      He frowned at her. How did she know that? She hadn’t mentioned being on the island before, but then again, he hadn’t been the gracious host, either. “You’ve been on the island before?”

      “I’ve been here a few times to talk to beach owners and do some studies. But even I know that it would take you a long time to get into town from here.”

      He’d walked the distance a couple of times when he’d needed the physical exhaustion. “I can do it,” he said, and drew back, swinging the door shut after him.

      Shay got out and came around to where he stood, limping slightly as she moved closer to bend over and take a look at the tires trapped in the mire. “Whoa, it really is stuck.” She turned, straightening, and grimaced as she shifted her feet.

      He could tell that even on the soggy ground, her feet were tender. If he’d been gallant, if he’d been more polite, he would have offered to help her, maybe even carry her so she wouldn’t have to walk. But he wasn’t any of those things anymore. Or maybe he hadn’t forgotten good manners as he’d first thought. When she shifted again, she flinched. He flashed the light down at her feet, at the dirt and grass clinging to them, and caught a glimpse of pale pink polish on her toenails. Then he stepped toward her and picked her up.

      He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held a woman, but he knew that he never should have done this. Everything in him backfired. He’d thought he was doing the right thing, proving to himself that he could still be human, but the moment she was in his arms, he felt his whole being clench. She gasped and twisted to look up at him. “What are you doing?”

      He wasn’t at all sure himself, but he knew that he felt his whole body brace as hers leaned into his. Then her arm was around his neck, and he hurried up the driveway to the terrace and headed for the door. He pushed it open, then put her down, and backed up, unconsciously rubbing his hands together as if to free himself of that connection he’d found for a few moments. He sucked in a deep breath, then looked at Shay.

      She brushed at her hair as those amber eyes lifted to him. “Thanks,” she said in a soft voice.

      “Sure.” He turned from her, and his stomach was roiling so painfully he thought he was going to be sick. He went farther into the house without looking back, stepped out of his boots in the great room and stripped off his peacoat, tossing it over the arm of the nearest couch. When he looked back, Shay was standing across the room, far from where he stood. She was slowly taking off her jacket, but she was watching him.

      She looked like a waif, pale and shaking, shifting from foot to foot again on the wooden floor, her hair wildly curling from the moisture. Luke seemed to see her so clearly at that moment that it almost made him ache. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want her here, and mostly, he didn’t want to feel any sort of pity or concern for her. He’d passed that point in his life. He’d vowed not to care about anyone anymore, and he wasn’t going to start with this woman.

      He wouldn’t remember her coming into this house, standing in front of him, her eyes huge, her hair clinging to her face and neck. He closed his own eyes tightly. He felt that fragmenting sensation he used to live with all the time, but had managed to push away the past few months.

      “Luke?”

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