else.”
“Or else what?”
“That’s what I wanted to know. I didn’t ask him, of course, because his kids were with him.”
She lifted her chin. Crossed both arms over her chest. Took half a step forward.
“If you’re waiting for me to apologize on his behalf, don’t. Eliot has always been protective, and under the circumstances, you can hardly blame him. I was a mess, for months, thanks to you. And he was right there, helping pick up the pieces.”
A two-by-four to the head couldn’t have hurt worse.
“I get it. In fact, I admitted to him that I get it. Doesn’t mean I like being taken to task in front of a bunch of strangers.”
She shrugged again, as if to say That’s the price you pay for participating in an armed robbery.
If that’s what she truly felt, he couldn’t blame her. That hurt, and riled him, too.
Every time the prison mailman handed him a Return to Sender envelope, his heart shrank a bit more; when Turtle poked that last one through the chipped gray bars, Ian all but gave up. Lincoln’s chaplain, having heard that he wasn’t eating or sleeping much, made an unscheduled visit to cell block D, during which the old priest said something Ian had never forgotten: “Self-pity is the most destructive of human emotions. Get involved in activities that put you last, not first.” The advice had served him well...until he saw her on the bistro’s dance floor. Since then he’d flip-flopped from wondering if what they’d once had could be revived, and wanting to protect her from him. He reminded himself how important family had always been to her. If it came down to choices between their feelings and even the most casual business relationship with him, she’d choose them.
As she should, since—as she’d pointed out—they’d been there to pick up the pieces after he went away.
“Just so we’re on the same page,” she said, standing as tall as her five-foot frame would allow, “we both know that Eliot has nothing to worry about...right?”
“Right. And neither do you. Soon as this Kids First stuff ends, you’ll probably never see me again.”
“No need to back away entirely. Washburne needs all the capable volunteers it can get. I’m sure they can find ways you can continue helping out that don’t involve working with me.”
She must have realized that her curt words rattled him, because Maleah smiled. Not the big happy grin that once lit up her entire face, but Ian preferred it to the way she’d been looking at him since Eliot left.
“Have you had a chance to see the entire exhibit yet?”
“Not yet. Too busy fixing what these curious visitors mess up. My mom used to say ‘You look with your eyes, not your fingers.’ Guess they never heard that one.”
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