Читать книгу Second Chance Summer - Irene Hannon, Irene Hannon - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Fletch glanced in his rearview mirror, started to back out of the parking lot at the Sea Turtle Center—and jammed on his brake as an attractive blonde came into view.

She was some distance away, at the edge of the lot for the hotel, burdened down with two large tote bags and a shoulder purse as she wove among the cars. Yet he had no trouble identifying her.

Rachel Shaw.

But it was a different Rachel Shaw than the feisty woman he’d encountered on the beach and at Gram’s house.

This Rachel’s bent head and slumped shoulders communicated weariness—or discouragement...or both. What had happened to dampen her spunky spirit?

He frowned as he continued to follow her progress. He ought to just leave. The mental state of Eleanor’s niece was no concern of his.

Yet for some reason her dejected posture bothered him.

Fletch drummed a finger on the wheel as Gram’s admonition about manners echoed in his ears.

Polish them up. You were raised better than that.

He blocked out the part of her comment about attracting a nice girl. His impulse to go to Rachel’s aid had nothing to do with creating a more favorable impression on her. But Gram was right. He had been raised better than to let a woman carry heavy stuff without assistance. The influence of his Southern upbringing might have faded through the years, but enough remained to niggle at his conscience as he watched his beach companion from last week trudge along—especially after her purse slipped and she almost lost her grip on one of the tote bags.

With a quick shift of gears, Fletch pulled back into his spot, slid out of the SUV, and wove toward her through the cars.

Rachel was plodding along, head bowed, when he stopped a few feet in front of her.

“We meet again.”

As he parroted her words from Sunday back to her, her chin jerked up and she came to an abrupt halt.

Fletch gestured toward the overstuffed tote bags. “You look like you could use a hand.”

Her gaze flicked to his leg.

His temper flared.

What was with her, anyway? She’d seen him swim, watched him walk without any problem on the deep, shifting sand. If they’d met under any other circumstances she wouldn’t know he had a prosthesis. What did he have to do to prove he was fully mobile—dance the tango?

Since that wasn’t an option even if he had two good legs, Fletch settled for grabbing both bags from her before she could protest. “Where are you parked?” The question came out more clipped and curt than he intended.

Rachel looked up—and his breath jammed in his lungs.

Her jade eyes shimmered with distress, and that braid thing she did with her hair accentuated the taut planes of her face. When she swallowed and moistened her lips, a twinge of some unidentifiable emotion tugged at his heart.

He cleared his throat—and softened his tone. “Your car?”

Rachel gestured to her right. “The silver Focus.” As she spoke, she led the way, giving him an excellent view of sandaled feet with polished toenails, shapely legs outlined by white capris and a trim waist belted with a silky scarf. As for those soft wisps of hair that had escaped her braid...they whispered at the neck of her sleeveless knit top, calling out to be touched.

While she popped the trunk with the remote, he took a deep breath.

Don’t go there, Fletcher. Rachel Shaw might be attractive, but you don’t need a summertime romance—even if she could get past the leg issue. She’s the niece of your grandmother’s best friend. This would only complicate your life.

Check.

After setting the bulky bags inside the trunk, Fletch lowered the lid and faced her, searching for some innocuous comment to ease the tension that seemed to underscore their every encounter. “Must have been quite a shopping trip—though your frown would suggest it wasn’t successful.”

She positioned her purse in front of her and gripped it like a shield. “The Pier Road shops are more for tourists. Besides, I’m not a shopper.”

That was one thing in her favor, at least. How some women could roam through malls for hours with no agenda was mind-boggling. If you were going to a store, you made a list, bought what you needed and left. Anything else was a waste of time.

When the silence lengthened and Rachel didn’t pick up on his subtle offer to share what was bothering her, Fletch took the cue and stepped back. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

He expected her to return the sentiment and make a beeline for the driver’s seat.

Instead, she stayed where she was and caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Look...I’m sorry.”

At her off-script comment, he frowned. “For what?”

“I stared at your leg again.” Bright spots of color appeared on her cheeks, but she didn’t break eye contact. “The truth is, I’ve never met anyone with an artificial limb. I always assumed it would be a major impediment, but you swim better than anyone I’ve ever met—and you have absolutely no limp. I’m awestruck...and totally impressed. But staring is rude, and I understand why you’d be offended. So I apologize.”

He appraised her in silence. Was her explanation on the level?

Maybe.

The sincerity and contrition in her eyes seemed legit. There wasn’t a shred of deceit—or pity—in her expression.

Meaning he’d overreacted. Big-time.

Fletch relaxed his posture and summoned up a smile. “Apology accepted. Let’s just say we got off on the wrong foot and start over—pun intended.”

Her eyes widened, as if she hadn’t expected him to find any humor in the situation, and then her own lips wobbled up. “Thanks for being a good sport about it.”

“It’s either that or go through life feeling sorry for myself. So what brought you to the historic area today?”

Rachel’s tremulous smile faded. “I teach a children’s art class at the hotel two days a week every summer. Today was my first session of the season.”

“It didn’t go well?”

“Most of the kids had a great time. But there was one little girl...” Her voice trailed off and she gave him an apologetic shrug. “I’m sure you have better things to do than listen to my tale of woe.”

Yeah, he did. Newark was expecting an answer to a lengthy email, and he had some schematics to review for a new military aircraft manufacturing facility in Washington state. He also had to prep for a wee-hours-of-the-morning conference call with one of his European clients.

But as the dipping sun gilded Rachel’s hair and she looked up at him with those vivid green eyes, work was suddenly the furthest thing from his mind.

“To be honest, I’m at loose ends for a couple of hours. I dropped Gram off at the Sea Turtle Center for some special event she’s helping with, and I was going to grab a quick dinner. Have you eaten yet?”

“No.”

“I’ll tell you what. If you keep me company during dinner, I’ll listen to your tale.”

As the words hung in the air between them, Fletch frowned. Where in the world had that come from?

Rachel seemed clueless, too. She gave him a wary look and played with the strap of her purse. “Aunt El had a meeting at church, but she was going to leave me a plate in the fridge.”

There’s your out, Fletch. Take it.

But once again, foolish words slipped out.

“Eat it for lunch tomorrow.”

What was going on here?

Before he had a chance to ponder that question, Rachel did that distracting lip-moistening thing again, drawing his attention to the soft curve of her mouth. The woman had great lips. Lush and full and very kissable...

“Okay.”

He jerked his gaze back to her eyes. “What?”

“I said I’d have dinner with you.”

Dinner. Right.

Fletch did his best to keep the heat on his neck from creeping above the collar of his sport shirt. “Great. Any recommendations? Everything was shut down when I came at Christmas, and I’ve only been here for a few days this trip.”

“Fins is pleasant. It’s on the other side of the island, but Shell Road cuts straight through. It has a deck that overlooks the beach, if you like to eat outside.”

“Works for me. I’ll follow you.” Fletch gestured across the parking lot. “I’m in the black Explorer.”

Rachel eyed it. “That looks very tactical—which seems appropriate for a former Navy SEAL.”

He folded his arms. “You know my background?”

“Only a few basics. Aunt El’s been dropping crumbs since Sunday. In case you haven’t figured it out, it was no accident we were both on that otherwise empty beach.”

“I figured it out.” But Gram had been far less forthcoming with information about the woman standing in front of him. It was hard to blame her, though, given his clear back-off messages. “What else did she tell you?”

Rachel lifted one shoulder. “Very little. I didn’t encourage her for fear I’d send the wrong message.”

“Which would be...?”

Her cheeks pinkened again, but she didn’t shy away from the question. “Aunt El’s decided I need some romance in my life, even though I’ve told her I’m not in the market. I have a feeling she’ll latch on to anyone I show the remotest interest in—especially if that person is someone she’s already decided might be suitable. So I’ve been playing down our meeting. All I know is that you lost your leg in the Middle East, you live in Norfolk and you’re involved in some kind of security work.”

“I know less about you. It seems I have some catching up to do.” Like finding out what had happened to her husband. He couldn’t ask Gram for the same reason Rachel couldn’t ask Eleanor about him, but maybe the woman herself would tell him.

She shifted and tightened her grip on her purse, her taut posture suggesting otherwise. “I lead a very quiet existence as a grade-school art teacher in Richmond. You’ll fall asleep in your seafood chowder if I tell you my life story. But I wouldn’t mind talking through what happened today, if you’re still willing to listen. It’s been eating at me for hours.”

Her message came through loud and clear: personal stuff wasn’t on the dinner menu.

And he couldn’t fault her caution. They were both here for brief stays. Their homes were in cities a hundred miles apart—not exactly convenient commuting distance. She was “geographically undesirable for dating,” as one of his buddies used to put it. Rachel, by her own admission, wasn’t interested in romance. The odds were against them even without throwing his own issues into the mix.

Yet he wanted to know more about her—out of curiosity, nothing more. And if he listened to whatever was on her mind about today, maybe she’d open up a little about the rest of her life.

“I’m still willing.” He circled her car, and she sent him a surprised look when he pulled the driver’s door open. “Gram reprimanded me for my lack of manners on Sunday. I feel compelled to prove I remember a few of the etiquette lessons she drummed into me in my youth.”

Without a word, Rachel slid into the car.

“See you in a few minutes.” He shut the door, worked his way back to his car...and found himself looking forward to sharing dinner with the lovely blonde.

Strange.

Much as he’d been annoyed at Gram’s and Eleanor’s orchestration of Sunday’s beach encounter, he suddenly wished he’d met Rachel Shaw under different circumstances—and that she wasn’t so averse to considering a new relationship.

* * *

Why in the world had she agreed to have dinner with Louise’s grandson—especially after he’d hinted he’d like to know more about her background?

Rachel guided her Focus along Shell Road, under the canopy of Spanish moss that clung to the towering live oaks, past the hotel’s golf course, alongside a family of bicyclists on a carefree holiday.

That was the kind of holiday she’d expected to have.

Instead, she was dealing with a well-meaning but misguided aunt who’d decided it was time for her to reenter the social scene, a forlorn little girl who was in desperate need of some TLC, and the tall, dark-haired man close on her tail whose sharp, insightful eyes told her he wouldn’t hesitate to introduce subjects she didn’t want to discuss and ask questions she didn’t want to answer.

Maybe she could just order a soft drink and an appetizer and make a quick exit—even if leaving him in the lurch to finish his dinner alone wasn’t the most polite thing she’d ever done.

But it would be safer. She knew that intuitively...and she trusted her instincts.

Settled on that strategy, Rachel pulled into a parking place, locked up and waited at the back of her car as Fletch angled in beside her.

As soon as he joined her, she started toward the restaurant. But at a touch on her arm, she stopped and turned.

“You know, it occurred to me during the drive here that we’ve never been officially introduced. I think Gram assumed we’d exchanged names on the beach.” He extended his hand. “Jack Fletcher. Fletch to my friends.”

She regarded his lean fingers. The mere thought of touching him set off a warning bell in her mind, but what choice did she have?

“Rachel Shaw.”

His fingers closed over hers—firm, strong and confident. It was the sort of handshake her father always referred to as a “John Wayne grip.” The kind that said I’m here, I’m wearing my white hat and everything’s going to be all right.

So why did she sense danger?

Taking a shaky breath, she tugged her hand free. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” He gestured toward the restaurant. “Shall we?”

Without waiting for her to respond, he took her elbow and guided her up the slanting concrete walkway that led to the patio. It was a polite gesture, nothing more; the kind of thing some men did without thinking about it.

But it had been years since anyone had touched her that way.

And despite what she’d told Aunt El about not being in the market for romance, it felt good.

Her lips settled into a firm line. A reaction like that was all the more reason to end this evening as soon as possible. She carried enough guilt already about Mark. The least she could do was be loyal to him for another year or two. She owed him that.

Because if she’d been more attentive, he might still be alive.

Heart suddenly heavy, Rachel let Fletch lead her in silence as the hostess showed them to one of the umbrella-topped tables on the deck that offered a view of the beach beyond the dunes.

Fletch held her chair as she sat, then took the one at a right angle to her. “My compliments on your choice of restaurant. If the food is half as good as the view, this might become a regular stop for me.”

“I’ve never had a bad meal here.” She gave the menu a perfunctory scan and set it aside.

“A woman who knows what she wants.” Fletch picked up his own menu and smiled at her.

She found herself staring at the killer dimple that appeared in his cheek. How come she hadn’t noticed it before?

Then again, they hadn’t done a lot of smiling at each other up until now.

“Rachel?”

She tore her gaze from the dimple. “What?”

“I asked if you have any recommendations.”

“Oh.” She settled her napkin on her lap and dug around in her purse for her sunglasses. “You can’t go wrong with the catch of the day.”

“Sold.”

Fletch closed his menu as she slipped the glasses over her nose and hid behind the dark lenses. She would not be caught staring at that dimple—or anything else—again.

For a moment, she thought he was going to comment on her transparent strategy. But he let it pass as the waitress arrived to take their orders.

Fletch deferred to her.

“A Coke and shrimp cocktail.”

“And for your entrée?” The woman waited, pencil poised.

“That’s all I’m having.”