had the oddest feeling that if he did just that, she would welcome them. And deal with the influx graciously and feed them well.
“I’ll leave you two to it, then.” Hayley glanced at her dog, who had inexplicably given up his fascination with the stockpot and was at the front door, clearly ready to leave, and added, “Since it appears his work here is done for the moment.”
Tate’s brow furrowed. What was that supposed to mean? But before he could ask, both woman and dog were out the door and headed home at a steady run.
“Seems you’re making friends in the neighborhood whether you like it or not,” Lacy said when they’d gone out of sight.
That stung, although not as much as her manners comment. “Why wouldn’t I like it?”
“Just saying you don’t go out of your way to be welcoming.”
“Doesn’t seem like I have to, with everybody showing up, anyway.” What was it about this woman that had him snapping like this? Maybe he wasn’t an easy charmer like Cav, but he’d never turned into a grouch at the sight of a beautiful woman. And Lacy Steele was certainly that, as his body kept reminding him. He sucked in a breath, willing himself to speak evenly. “Look, I only meant I thought it would be...slower here. Small-town slow. And I thought I’d left stuff like middle-of-the-night explosions behind for good.”
“I’m sorry,” she said immediately. “Of course, you’re right. And you have every right.”
Her instant contriteness, so obviously sincere, made him feel even worse. As if he’d somehow traded on his service to get out of a situation his own rusty social skills had gotten him into.
“I’ll get the pot,” he said, turning to go to the kitchen before he could make things any worse. When he brought it back, feeling he had to say something, he handed it over with what he thought should be safe enough—a sincere, “The stew was great. Really. Thank you.”
The smile she gave him then made him forget the awkwardness, and all the irritation he’d been feeling over his disrupted morning. It did nothing, however, to remove that uncomfortable awareness that had him so edgy.
“You’re more than welcome. And if you like, I’ll save some spaghetti sauce for you. I always make a ton so I can freeze some for later.”
“I...”
“Just say ‘yes, thank you.’ It’s easier.”
He lowered his gaze and let out a rueful chuckle before echoing her suggestion. “Yes, thank you.”
Her smile widened. “All right then.” She looked around, her nose wrinkling. “That smoke smell is still pretty strong.” He nodded as she pointed out the obvious odor of burned materials. “It would give me a headache.”
It had, in fact, given him a headache the one time he’d tried to sleep in the house. Not to mention nightmares. “That’s why I’ve been sleeping out in the shop.”
She nodded in understanding. “Fresh paint’ll fix that when you get there.” She grinned at him, as if he were the friendliest guy in town. “Whole different kind of headache.”
He smiled back. He couldn’t seem to help it. It even lasted a second or two. It seemed enough for her, because she turned to go, stockpot in hand. Then she turned back.
“Anything more on your explosion?”
She’d been here when the lab had called, he remembered. As if he could forget. “No. I think they still suspect Gramps left the valve open.”
“Bull.”
She said it so bluntly he drew back slightly. She kept going, rather fiercely.
“One, Martin was sharp as a tack and would never forget something like that. Two, he was always aware and careful about propane in the first place, double-checking everything when he was done with the grill. Three, I’ve been around the back often, checking on the place, and I never once smelled even a trace of it. And the back corner of my garden is close enough, and I’m there often enough, I would have smelled it, anyway. It wasn’t leaking all this time.”
Halfway through her surprisingly impassioned declaration he was nodding. By the time she finished, he was nodding and smiling again as she echoed his own thoughts and reinforced his position.
“Thank you,” he said, meaning it from somewhere deep inside him, where his unfailing love for his grandfather resided.
“And I thought of something else last night,” she went on, clearly not done yet. “I never saw two tanks. In fact, a few times I took the one tank he had to get it refilled, to save him the trouble since we used his grill so often.”
Now, that he hadn’t known, Tate thought, feeling both gratified that she was echoing his confidence in Gramps, and sad that he hadn’t known. He should have spent more time with him. But he’d spent as much as he had. When he got enough leave to come home, it had been here he’d come, not the fancy, over-decorated house in So Cal where his parents lived.
“You don’t believe it, do you? That he was careless or forgot?”
She seemed as concerned as if he’d been her own grandfather. And Tate felt an odd kernel of a different kind of warmth finally blossom inside him.
“No,” he said softly. “I don’t.”
She smiled, seeming to be relieved. “Good. Because he wasn’t. And didn’t.” But then a frown creased her brow. She shifted the big, heavy pot in her arms. “But that leaves us with a big question.”
Us.
Funny how she assumed that kind of involvement.
Not at all funny how that simple, ordinary, two-letter word made his stomach knot up.
“A couple,” he said, trying to ignore the odd sensation. “Like where’d the second tank come from? And what really did bring on the explosion?”
“I was thinking more like—was it an accident at all?” she said, her tone grim.
Lacy stirred the sauce, her nose telling her she had the blend close to right. She wondered if it needed a bit more basil, so she lifted out a tiny bit in the spoon. She blew on it to cool the hot sauce, then took a careful taste.
“Nope,” she said aloud, happy she’d hit the balance right off the bat. Everything had come together as planned, flavor and timing, and the afternoon-long project was done.
And this time she would put the portion for her neighbor in a storage container, one he could just throw away when he was done, since the pot had apparently caused too much trouble.
“Stop it,” she muttered to herself. He had his reasons for being less than sociable. He’d come here for peace and quiet and had gotten little of either so far. She would drop this off and then leave him alone. This would fulfill her ingrained instinct to help a neighbor—strengthened immeasurably by the fact that he was a wounded veteran—going through a rough
