with you a week, maybe two. Please, Zane, watch out for her.
He’d given his word. He’d take care of Jess and make sure she had time to heal. Mae was counting on him, and there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for Janie’s mother. She deserved that much from him.
“You can stay as long as you like, Jess. You’ve got to know that.”
Her mouth began to tremble. “Th-thanks. You heard what happened?”
“I did.”
“I—I couldn’t stay in town. I had to get out of Texas. The farther, the better.”
“Well, Jess, you’re as far west as you could possibly go.” Five miles north of Malibu by way of the Pacific Coast Highway.
Her shoulders slumped. “I feel like such a fool.”
Reaching out, he cupped her chin, forcing her eyes to his, the darn crutch under his arm falling to rest on the railing. “Don’t.”
“I won’t be very good company,” she whispered, dang near breathless.
His body swayed, not allowing him another unassisted moment. He released her and grabbed for his crutch just in time. He tucked it under his arm and righted his position. “That makes two of us.”
Her soft laughter carried on the breeze. Probably the first bit of amusement she’d felt in days.
He smiled.
“I just need a week, Zane.”
“Like I said, take as long as you need.”
“Thanks.” She blinked, and her eyes drifted down to his injuries. “Uh, are you in a lot of pain?”
“More like, I’m being a pain. Mariah’s getting the brunt of my sour mood.”
“Now I can share it with her.” Her eyes twinkled for a second.
He’d forgotten what it was like having Jess around. She was ten years younger than him, and he’d always called her his little sis. He hadn’t seen much of her since Janie’s death. Cursed by guilt and anguish, he’d deliberately removed himself from the Holcombs’ lives. He’d done enough damage to them.
“Hand up your luggage to me,” he told her. With his good hand, he tucked his crutches under his armpits and propped himself, then wiggled his fingers. If he could get a grip on the bag...
Jessica rolled her eyes and hoisted her valise. “I appreciate it, Zane. But I’ve got this. Really, it’s not heavy. I packed light. You know, summer-at-the-beach kind of clothes.”
She let him off the hook. He would’ve tried, but fooling with her luggage wouldn’t have been pretty. The doggone crutches made him clumsy as a drunken sailor, and he wasn’t supposed to put any weight on his foot yet. “Fine, then. Why don’t you settle in and rest up a bit? I’m bunking on this level. You’ve got an entire wing of rooms to yourself upstairs. Take your pick and spread out.”
He followed behind as she made her way inside the wide set of light oak French doors leading to the living room. “Feel free to look around. I can have Mariah give you a tour.”
“No, that’s not necessary.” She scanned over what she could see of the house, taking in the expanse—vaulted ceilings, textured walls, art deco interior and sleek contemporary furniture. He caught her vibe, sensing her confusion. What was Zane Williams, a country-western artist and a born and bred Texan, doing living on a California beach? When he’d leased this place with the option to buy, he told himself it was because he wanted a change. He was building Zane’s on the Beach, his second restaurant in as many years, and he’d been offered roles in several Hollywood movies. He didn’t know if he was cut out for acting, so the pending offers were still on the table.
She sent him an over-the-shoulder glance. “It’s...a beautiful house, Zane.”
His crutches supporting him, he sidled up next to her, seeing the house from her perspective. “But not me?”
“I guess I don’t know what that is anymore.”
“It’s just a house. A place to hang my hat.”
She gave his hatless head a glance. “It’s a palace on the sea.”
He chuckled. So much for his attempt at humble. The house was a masterpiece. One of three designed by the architect who lived next door. “Okay, you got me there. Mariah found the house and leased it on the spot. She said it would shake the cobwebs from my head. Had it awhile, but this is my first summer here.” He leaned back, darting a glance around. “At least the humidity is bearable and it never seems to rain, so no threat of thunderstorms. The neighbors are nice.”
“A good place to rest up.”
“I suppose, if that’s what I’m doing.”
“Isn’t it?”
He shrugged, fearing he’d opened up a can of worms. Why was he revealing his innermost thoughts to her? They weren’t close anymore. He hardly knew Jessica as an adult, and yet they shared a deeply powerful connection. “Sure it is. Are you hungry? I can have my housekeeper make you—”
“Oh, uh...no. I’m not hungry right now. Just a bit tired from the trip. I’d better go upstairs before I collapse right here on your floor. Thanks for having a limo pick me up. And, well, thanks for everything, Zane.”
She rose on her tiptoes, and the soft brush of her lips on his cheek squeezed something tight in his chest. Her hair smelled of summer strawberries, and the fresh scent lingered in his nose as she backed away.
“Welcome.” The crutches dug into his armpits as they supported his weight. He hated the damn things. Couldn’t wait to be free of them. “Just a suggestion, but the room to the right of the stairs and farthest down the hall has the best view of the ocean. Sunsets here are pretty glorious.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Her quick smile was probably meant to fake him out. She could pretend she wasn’t hurting all that badly if she wanted to, but dark circles under her eyes and the pallor of her skin told the real story. He understood. He’d been there. He knew how pain could strangle a person until all the breath was sucked out. Hell, he’d lived it. Was still living it. And he knew something about Holcomb family pride, too.
What kind of jerk would leave any Holcomb woman standing at the altar?
Only a damn fool.
* * *
Jessica took Zane’s advice and chose the guest room at the end of the hallway. Not for the amazing sunsets as Zane had suggested, but to keep out of his hair. Privacy was a precious commodity. He valued it, and so did she now. A powerful urge summoned her to slump down on the bed and cry her eyes out, but she managed to fight through the sensation. She was done with self-pity. She wasn’t the first woman to be dumped at the altar. She’d been duped by a man she’d loved and trusted. She’d been so sure and missed all of the telling signs. Now she saw them through crystal clear eyes.
She busied herself unpacking her one suitcase, layering her clothes into a long, stylish light wood dresser. Carefully
