was full of character and secret stories. Her favorite kind of subject.
After her cursory examination, she pulled out her camera and started taking shots. Different angles, distances, close-ups, and with the Atlantic in the background. The ocean was restless today, and she loved the whitecaps that showed in her viewfinder, and the odd spray from waves that crashed on the rocks below.
After she took the photos, she thought she might like to get a few of the house, too. It was more modern and certainly very grand, but still with that lonely brave-the-elements esthetic that she loved. She swung around toward the property and came face-to-face with a pair of angry eyes. The man they belonged to gave her a real start.
“You’re trespassing,” he said, his voice sharp and condemning.
He looked like a hermit. It was hard to tell his age, because his hair was shaggy and his beard was in dire need of trimming, but she guessed maybe forty, or a little older. The brown shirt was wrinkled and slightly too big for his lean frame, and he wore faded jeans and worn boots. All in all, he was a little bit intimidating. Not just his looks, but the expression on his face. He was angry, and he wasn’t bothering to hide it.
Somehow, though, she found him rather compelling. Rugged and mysterious, and beneath the scruff his looks were quite appealing. She rather thought she’d like to sketch him. And while he was intimidating, he didn’t seem...dangerous. Just grouchy.
“I was only on the property for a few minutes. I stayed right along the edge until I got to the lighthouse.”
“The lighthouse is on my property. I’m assuming you saw the sign, and chose to ignore it.”
She didn’t have an answer to that, because it was true. Except she hadn’t realized that the lighthouse was on his private property. Weren’t they usually parkland or municipal or something? How many people owned their very own lighthouse?
She put on her most contrite face. Despite his abrasive manner, it appeared she was in the wrong here, not him. If she wanted to have access to this perfect aspect, she needed to appeal to his...friendly side? If he had one.
“I’m really sorry. I truly didn’t realize the lighthouse was part of your property. I’m an artist, you see. I’d heard about it from someone at the Sandpiper Resort, and they assured me it was worth checking out. I wouldn’t have trespassed if I had realized I wasn’t just, well, cutting across your lot.”
He crossed his arms.
Now she was getting annoyed. Had she done anything so very awful that meant he had to be so...disagreeable?
She tried again. “I’m Jessica Blundon.” She held out her hand and smiled.
He didn’t shake it. Instead, his dark eyes assessed her from top to bottom, making her feel...lacking. One of his eyebrows lifted slightly, a question mark. She held his gaze, refusing to cower. If his goal was to intimidate her, he was failing. Despite his horrible manners, she did not feel the least bit threatened. This dog’s bark was worse than his bite, she figured. There was something in his gaze that she responded to. He wanted to be left alone. It wasn’t long ago she’d felt the same, so she merely lowered her hand and wondered what was hidden behind the beard and longish hair and grumpy exterior.
“Well, Miss Blundon, you’re on private property. I’ll ask you to delete those photos off your camera and go back to where you came from.”
Her mouth dropped open. He was actually going to get her to delete her pictures? She closed her mouth and frowned. “Is that really necessary? I mean, it’s not like the lighthouse is some giant secret.”
“It’s my lighthouse, on my property, and I don’t want you to have pictures of it.” He reached into his pocket and took out a cell phone. “You can delete them or I can make a phone call and have the cops out here.”
Now he was being utterly unreasonable, and any curiosity or sympathy she’d felt fled. “I could walk away and take my pictures with me. Unless you’re planning to personally restrain me.”
She lifted her chin, met his gaze. Something flared there, and nerves skittered along her spine. Not of fear. But of awareness. Mr. Hermit was enigmatic, and no matter how much he tried to hide behind his ragged appearance, he was actually quite attractive. There was something familiar about him, too, that she couldn’t quite place.
His gaze dropped to her lips, then back up again to her eyes, and for the first time, his mouth curved in a slight smile. “Good luck,” he replied. “I know your name and I know you’re at the Sandpiper. Not too hard to tell the RCMP where to look.”
He’d call the Mounties. He’d really do it, over a few stupid pictures. She lifted her camera and glared at him. “Fine. I’ll delete the damned pictures.” Her heart broke a little bit just saying it. She needed them. The first true inspiration she’d had in two years...darn it. She held his gaze and got the sense he wasn’t bluffing.
“You could just give me the memory card.”
“I don’t think so. It wasn’t blank when I got here. I’ll delete the ones I took just now but that’s all. And you’re being a jerk.”
He shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”
Jessica switched to view mode and with growing frustration started deleting all the beautiful pictures she’d already taken, all the while calling him worse in her mind. He was being completely unreasonable. She toyed with the idea of keeping one or two, trying to hide them from him, but then figured why bother. When she looked up, he held out his hand.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she muttered, taking the strap off her neck and putting the camera in his hands.
He scrolled through, appeared to be satisfied, and handed it back.
“Thank you. You can leave now.”
Her cheeks flared at being so readily dismissed. She shoved the camera into her tote, fuming. He hadn’t even offered his name when she’d introduced herself.
She met his gaze. “For the record, you didn’t have to be so rude.”
Then she swept by him. She was only a few feet away when she thought she heard him say, “Yes, I did.” But when she looked over her shoulder, he was standing with his back to her, looking out to sea.
She hurried on, but when she got to a curve in the property, she turned back. He was still standing in the same spot, looking angry and lonely and lost.
She reached for her camera and took one hurried shot, then scurried back to the gate.
Bran sensed when she was completely gone, and let out a low breath.
Solitude. All he wanted was solitude. For people to leave him alone. The months of pretending in New York had taken their toll. He’d lost himself in his grief, only pulled out occasionally by his best friends, Cole and Jeremy. There’d even been times when he’d smiled and laughed. But then he’d gone home to the reminders of the life he’d once had, the one he’d been on the cusp of having, and he’d fallen apart. Every. Single. Time.
When he’d started to self-medicate with alcohol, he’d known he had to make
