your car to the front door,” Dane told Kat after she observed her son swallow the painkiller. “I’ll carry the boy outside.”
“I can walk,” Blake assured. He jumped off the worktable onto his good leg and limped from the kitchen.
Two minutes later, Kat locked up the house. Driving down the lane, she caught sight of Dane in the Honda’s side mirror. Arms crossed, he stood on the bottom step of her veranda, a formidable, forbidding man watching her leave the property.
What do you really know about him, Kat?
He’d had medical training, that was a given. Had he become the military doctor her sister Lee alluded to years ago? Given the desert fatigues he wore, Dane Rainhart had clearly served his country in some capacity.
That being the case, the sadness, the aloofness, the loner attitude seemed to resemble post traumatic stress disorder. Last winter, Lee had pondered the symptoms during her brief relationship with Col. Oliver Coleman before he was killed in action in Iraq.
“You mad at Mr. Rainhart, Mom?” Blake’s question from the rear seat jerked Kat away from the memory.
“Not at all. Why?”
Worried brown eyes filled the rearview mirror. “I was scared at first, but then I realized he was only trying to help. He wasn’t mean or anything.”
“You shouldn’t have spied on him, Blake. Looking through people’s windows is an invasion of privacy and very wrong. You know better. What on earth made you do such a thing?”
“I dunno.” He hung his head; dark hair fell over his smooth brow. “I’m sorry.”
Kat turned out of their wooded lane and onto Shore Road leading into the village of Burnt Bend. “It’s Mr. Rainhart you need to apologize to.”
“I will,” the boy murmured.
The promise did nothing to loosen the knot in Kat’s stomach. Her son had never peered into the windows of her guests’ cabins. Why did he do so now?
She wondered what Dane thought of Blake. She wondered what he thought of her parenting skills. Then she wondered why his opinion was important enough for her to contemplate. The man was part of her past, not her future. Right now, she needed to concentrate on getting her son medical attention. Beyond that, nothing else mattered.
Yet, the feeling Dane Rainhart wasn’t finished with her continued to hover over Kat’s shoulder.
He sat on the cabin steps, watching for her headlights to play peek-a-boo through the lane’s trees, to tell him she had returned home with the boy. The moment her car disappeared, he’d gone for a hard, fast hike through the hilly forest behind her property.
The kid’s chest hadn’t been crushed under the weight of metal. The wheezing was the result of asthma.
The knowledge had punctuated Dane’s every step. Guided by the flashlight, he’d climbed across mossy stones, through thick undergrowth and dodged gnarly tree limbs until his chest heaved, and the whistling sound of her son’s condition subsided.
Now he waited. Without light or warmth from the cabin.
He heard the grumble of a motor before headlights trickled through the forest. Seconds later, she pulled into the carport. Doors slammed. Voices, hers and the boy’s, drifted softly on the night.
A brick of tension dropped from his body. They were home. The boy was okay. Still, he waited. Waited until the big house lay in darkness, except for an upstairs window.
Suddenly, the narrow, rectangular pane beside the mudroom door lit behind its lacy curtain.
Dane rose from the chair when he heard a latch click. Footsteps crossed the deck. Kaitlin? Or the boy, sneaking out again?
He went down the flagstone path.
She stood on the edge of the deck, wrapped in a pale shawl. Damn, she was lovely, like an elf come out to play under the stars.
“Kaitlin?” he queried softly and saw her body jerk.
“Good heavens, you’re a quiet one.”
He hadn’t meant to startle her. Keeping to the delta of the path, he asked, “How’s the boy?”
“Eight stitches. The doctor says he can go to school tomorrow, just no roughhousing on the playground.”
Dane nodded.
A handful of seconds passed. She asked, “Are you a military doctor?”
“Not anymore.”
“A doctor here, then? You seemed to know exactly what to do with Blake’s injury.”
He hesitated. “I was a trauma surgeon in Iraq. Served there since we went in. Left a year-and-a-half ago.” He’d been in the Middle East almost six years. Too damned long to work in a place where you never knew if your next breath would be your last.
She remained silent, studying him as he studied her. Finally, she said, “I was coming to see you, but your lights were off.”
“I like sitting on the porch in the dark. It’s peaceful.”
“I understand.”
He imagined she did. She would need the peace following her husband’s death.
She said, “I want to apologize for my son’s behavior. It won’t happen again.”
“He’s a typical kid. Don’t worry about it.”
“Being a kid is no excuse. He’ll apologize after school tomorrow.”
“All right.”
As she turned to go, she paused. “Would you like to join us for dinner tomorrow? As a thank-you for helping Blake tonight.”
“Help?” The way I helped Zaakir? Dane bit hard on his tongue to sever the memory. “It was my fault he got hurt,” he murmured. “If I hadn’t chased him—”
“We’re all a little to blame,” she replied reasonably. “However, if you’d rather not…”
“I’m surprised you’d trust me after tonight.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” She stepped off the deck and crossed to him. “Dane, I don’t know your past, or what’s eating you. That’s your business. But from what I’ve seen so far, from what I remember, you’re all right. So if you like roast chicken with stuffing, dinner will be at six tomorrow.”
He could smell her on the night air, caught himself lifting his chin an inch to better draw in the scent. “You’d be wise to stay away from me,” he said.
She smiled. “Perhaps. Except I don’t scare easily.”
The night trapped them, a thick swathe of darkness in which he could imagine the heat of flesh slipping along flesh. His gaze seized her, beckoned her, told her a thousand stories.
“Be
