Nobody's Hero. Carrie Alexander

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СКАЧАТЬ got a shrug. “Walking. Exploring the shore.” He met her eyes. “In complete innocence.”

      “I didn’t intend to accuse you of anything. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on with Pippa. You seem like a normal sort of guy.” Normal? Maybe. “What’s so intriguing about you that she’d break the rules and—” she exaggerated for his benefit “—risk my wrath?”

      Connie knew why he intrigued her—no mystery in that at all. In the fourteen years since she’d hooked up with Philip when they were both sophomores in college, she may have forgotten how strong the first sweet rush of attraction could be. But she was recognizing it now.

      Sean’s gaze took in her face, her hair. “Do you have a lot of wrath?” he asked, bemused.

      Heat flooded her cheeks. Her scalp tingled. “My temper has been known to flare.”

      “Ah, yes, that’s right. I remember now.”

      She snorted. “Hey, wait a minute. I wasn’t completely off the mark about that.” She tilted her head toward the ceiling as the sound of drumming water ceased. “A mother’s got to be diligent, nowadays.”

      Sean retreated. “You’re right, of course.”

      Connie poured the hot chocolate into a mug. “Want some? You got wet, too.” She stared at his clinging jeans. “Shoot. I should have offered you a change of clothing, and instead I’m entertaining you with plot summaries of old Disney movies.”

      He waved her off. “Thanks, but I’m not fitting into any of your gardening togs. I’ll go home to change.” He dropped the towels on the back of the chair and moved to the front door, which still stood wide-open.

      She followed. “I want you to know that I realize how lucky we were that you were there to rescue Pippa. If you hadn’t seen her…If you hadn’t acted quickly…Well, that’s too horrible to consider. Words of gratitude aren’t enough.” She grasped the edge of the door. Swallowed the lump in her throat. “Pippa and I are indebted.”

      “A thank-you is enough.” Sean stooped and picked something up off her doorstep, using his left hand. The knuckles of his right pressed hard into his thigh.

      With a wince, he straightened and extended his hand. “You and Mr. Bradford owe me no more than that.”

      He thought there was a Mr. Bradford? Connie didn’t wear a wedding ring, although that was because of her job rather than her marital status. She might have immediately explained that her “we” was a family of only two, but she was distracted by what Sean had handed her.

      Pippa’s sodden notebook. The answer, perhaps, to all of Connie’s questions, even if she couldn’t possibly read it without her daughter’s permission.

      “Thank you.” She clutched the tablet to her midriff, even though it was cold and smelled of seaweed. She needed to hold on…to something.

      Sean gave a short wave and strode down the path to the main road. Even with the pronounced hitch in his step and his damp, wrinkled clothing, he cut an admirable figure in the dappled sunshine—proud, angular and so very capable of the heroics that he denied.

      Connie took a deep breath and pushed down the damnably persistent tide of attraction. She’d explain about Phil later, when and if Sean returned at six to take her up on the dinner invitation.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      “I MISS DADDY, TOO.”

      Connie’s voice stilled the knock of Sean’s knuckles against the door. He flattened his hand. The Sheffield guesthouse was such a small place that the redhead’s voice was clearly audible through an open window. The only other sounds nearby were the birds in the trees and the wind through the pine boughs.

      “And I’m sorry that I have to work so much. I’d be home with you if I could.”

      “I don’t want you to be home with me.” Pippa’s voice, trying to sound belligerent, came across bruised. “I’m not a baby, Mom.”

      “You’re not a teenager, either, so don’t expect to have the privileges of one. When I say don’t go near the ocean, I mean do not go near the ocean. Boredom isn’t an excuse. Neither is curiosity.” A metallic clang accompanied the words.

      Sean supposed that she was banging pots and pans again. There was something familiar about that, and it didn’t take more than a moment to scan past twenty years away from home to realize why. His mother had been a pot banger, too. His wild Irish rose, Sean’s father had always said, even though the both of them had been born and raised in New England.

      Connie gave Sean no maternal longings, that was for sure. Although as he listened, she continued a lecture that might have been torn from Moira Rafferty’s book. The trouble he’d caused his parents growing up—they would have welcomed his dunking in the surf and tossed his siblings in, as well—brought a wry smile to Sean’s face. He was forty, more than capable on his own, but his mother was still his mother. She’d been quite verbal about his decision to recuperate alone on Osprey Island instead of in the bosom of the noisy Rafferty household. It had been his dad who’d talked her into agreeing to supply their Arizona condo for the vacation house switch.

      “From now on, you’ll have no more opportunities to disobey me,” Connie continued. “You’ll be by my side during the rest of our stay on the island. And if for some reason that’s not possible, you’ll have a babysitter. The Sheffields’ housekeeper told me she has a daughter who’s available.”

      Pippa groaned.

      Clang. “No complaining.”

      A long silence signaled the end of the discussion. Sean knocked.

      More clattering from the kitchen, then Connie’s voice. “Oh, my gosh. There he is, and I’m a mess. Look at my hair. Pippa, answer the door. And remember that you are not to interrogate Mr. Rafferty tonight. He’s our guest, not a suspect in one of your made-up mysteries.”

      Sean dropped his smile as the door opened. Pippa looked at him with her eyes rounded behind a pair of wire-framed glasses. The temperature was pleasant, but she was dressed in jeans, socks and tennies, with a long-sleeved sweatshirt under the faded Camp Arrowhead T-shirt that stretched across her middle. Her hair was braided so tightly her forehead looked taut and shiny.

      Sucking in a large, wet sniff, Pippa wiped a finger beneath her freckled nose. “Hullo. My mom says I have to thank you for rescuing me.”

      Connie appeared and clamped her hands on her daughter’s slumped shoulders. “That, my darling child, is not the most gracious way to express your appreciation.” She squeezed then released, and Pippa fled gratefully into the shadowy interior of the cottage.

      Sean held out three bottles of beer. “Wine might have been more appropriate, but this was all I had.” He hadn’t thought of making a trip to the island’s general store until it was too late.

      “Thanks.” Connie took the clinking brown bottles, holding them against her breasts with one arm as she gestured him inside with the other. “I like a cold beer better anyway. But why three? One for Pippa?” She chuckled.

      He entered. “Nope. Three’s what I had left from the six-pack I bought when I arrived.”

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