to everyone, including her. Not a pleasant sight,
“At least it wasn’t raining.”
Her tone was just a shade too cheerful, leavened perhaps with a touch of sarcasm. He was not doing well in this first contact with his new neighbor. Even the image her words invoked of the rain this region was known for pulled him two ways; it would have lessened the threat of fire after the explosion, but also would have left what little he had on soaking wet and him as good as buck naked.
That it would have done the same to her was something he didn’t dare think about.
She turned to go. He felt a sudden urge to stop her somehow, but felt hopelessly out of practice at this.
He wasn’t even sure what “this” was.
Was even less sure what had brought on the urge to tell her not to go.
She turned back, and for an instant he wondered if he was so rattled he’d spoken without realizing it.
“Come get those panels later, if you want them.”
“I... Thank you.” That seemed safe enough.
“I’m really sorry your first night here ended up like this. It’s normally a very peaceful neighborhood.”
“That’s what I wanted.”
Again that look flickered in her eyes. Was she thinking he meant she was disturbing that peace?
Did he mean that?
Before he could formulate an answer she was gone, leaving him alone with the rather startling revelation that he felt alive again in a way he hadn’t since he’d come home. Interested, rather than just going through the motions. Is that what it took, a middle of the night explosion? Had he truly become one of those people who only found purpose amid chaos and destruction? One of those guys who comes back from war unable to live in peace? He suppressed a shudder at the thought.
But the alternative was just as unsettling. That the new energy and interest he was feeling was the result of his attractive new neighbor.
Don’t make any big decisions for a while. And for God’s sake don’t fall for the first normal girl who catches your eye. You’re on a pendulum, and at first it’s going to swing back hard the other way. Give it a little time.
Greg Parker’s words, spoken in their last counseling session, had resonated with him. He knew the man had been there himself and trusted him the way he’d trusted his squad mates, with his life, albeit in a different way. And he’d been right; the euphoria of being back in the States had eventually given way to a moody depression that had lasted awhile, especially when Gramps died while he’d been trapped in a hospital, unable to get to him.
After that his focus had been to battle back to health, and then to readjust to a life where a crack of sound behind him was more likely to be a car backfiring than a shot. Finally he’d leveled back off, and only then had he made the decision to do what had been in the back of his mind all along. To go to the place he’d loved above all else as a kid, the house Gramps had left him. There he would decide what to do with the rest of his life.
...don’t fall for the first normal girl who catches your eye... Give it a little time.
It had been more than a little time, but no one had caught his eye in that way. There had been only that enveloping numbness.
At least, until tonight.
It was just the circumstances, he told himself. Who could fail to notice a woman like his neighbor when she was standing in your yard wearing next to nothing, with a look of concern in her big, blue-gray eyes? He was just numb, not dead. In fact, maybe this was just a sign he was coming back to life.
Problem was, he wasn’t sure he liked the idea. For a long time he just stood there, amid the smell of scorched wood, until there was a swath of dawn’s first light coming through a breach that shouldn’t be there.
Her new neighbor was going to be a pain, Lacy thought decidedly.
And within three seconds she was chastising herself for leaping to that judgment. You could hardly decide about somebody under circumstances like this, after all. Or you shouldn’t, although she knew people did.
He deserved better, anyway. Anyone who carried scars like his, earned volunteering to protect people he didn’t even know, deserved better. The best, she told herself. Besides, he was Martin’s grandson, and that alone should earn him some slack.
She poured herself a cup of coffee and carried it over to the workstation she’d set up in what had been intended to be a dining alcove but was now her office. It was the only space that seemed suitable, and she liked being able to look out over the garden, and then to the thick trees beyond.
Her cottage was small, designed for one person with a great room that held the kitchen, living area, a small powder room and the alcove she was in now. On the other side of the house was a large bedroom with a master bath. Scattered throughout were various nooks and crannies for storage that she’d found charming at first, but frustrating when it came to actually finding anything.
Her favorite spot was the large deck, which overlooked the garden and a small grassy yard that was getting smaller as she took over more growing space. Her landlady, a prosperous dentist from Seattle, had given her carte blanche to expand after the first time she’d visited and seen what Lacy had begun. Sending her home with a basket of fresh tomatoes, squash and peppers, and a bouquet of beautiful dahlias hadn’t hurt any.
Lacy sipped at her coffee as her computer booted up, wondering if the full pot she’d made was even going to be enough after last night. She’d like nothing more than to go back to bed for a nap, but even if she didn’t have work to do, she knew her mind wouldn’t cooperate by shutting off. It was too full of thoughts, and too stubborn to stop wondering about Martin McLaughlin’s grandson and how he was doing.
At a sudden thought she abandoned the steaming coffee and went back outside. She’d meant it when she’d offered the Plexiglas panels to him, but she wasn’t at all sure he’d come over and get them, even if they would save him having to go buy sheets of plywood and cart them home. She didn’t know if he even had a car, since he’d arrived on a motorcycle.
She doubted Martin’s classic old El Camino, that sleek cross between car and truck that he’d just called “the buggy,” was running at the moment, although she was sure it was in perfect condition. The old man had puttered with it constantly. The engine rumbled happily, and the cherry-red paint always gleamed. She’d watched him often enough, handed tools to him, a bittersweet process because it reminded her of all the times she’d helped her father the same way as a kid.
She felt a pang as she remembered the last time she’d seen the car, the day she’d helped him put it into storage in the garage next to the workshop, carefully on blocks and covered. She’d had no idea then that it would be the last time. Would he keep it, this rather cranky grandson of his? Or sell it off for the no doubt nice bit of cash it could bring from a collector? She hoped not, hoped that his willingness to move in here was more than just that he needed a place to live.
She walked to the west side of her house, where the extra panels
