bother. I should go.” He looked at her finally and saw disappointment flare in her eyes before her face flushed and she turned away to needlessly rearrange the few items on the counter. Disappointment. She didn’t want him to leave. Was she crazy or just lonely?
He knew loneliness intimately—the empty, aching need to share at least some small part of your life with someone special. He’d made friends here, but even with them, he still felt the need. He still wondered if there was someone out there somewhere who was lonely for him. Was there someone special, someone he’d loved, someone whose life was incomplete without him?
He didn’t think so. Maybe it was sentimental bull, but he believed that if there had been someone special, some part of him would know. Maybe not his mind, but his heart. His soul. But his heart was too empty. He was too alone. Too attracted to Juliet.
Juliet, who was avoiding facing him, who was embarrassed, who was lonely.
He swallowed hard. Knowing he shouldn’t, he said, “If it wouldn’t be any trouble…”
She flashed a relieved smile. “No, not at all.”
He stayed on his side of the room while she took two more glasses from the cabinet, stretching high to reach, pulling taut fabric even tighter. Stifling a groan, he turned his attention to the back door. It stood open, the screen door unlatched, giving him a glimpse of a night-dark yard with shadows and gloom for cover.
“You need a light in the backyard,” he commented. “Either a floodlight or a motion sensor. And you should keep the screen door latched. Better yet, you should replace both your screen doors with storm doors, the kind with a keyed lock. You need a dead bolt on the door, too—at least a one-inch—and…”
The wary look she gave him made him stop. “This isn’t Dallas.”
“No, it’s Grand Springs. In the ten months I’ve been here, the mayor has been murdered, her daughter and granddaughter were kidnapped, the bank was robbed, and someone tried to kill a couple of cops and the town treasurer. Don’t confuse small with safe. Keep your doors locked.” Though his advice might be coming a little late. She had already let him in, and that just might be the worst mistake she could make.
She offered him a glass. He had to cross the room to take it from her. “Maybe you worked in the home security business.”
“Maybe I worked in the home invasion business.”
“If you were a criminal, you must have been very, very good to reach your age without getting caught. By the way, what age have they settled on for you?”
“Late thirties, maybe forty.” Forty hard years, judging by the lines on his face and the damage done to his body, and he could account for only ten months. The knowledge made him feel less than whole.
After latching the screen and locking the door, he followed her down the hall. He expected her to turn into the semi-businesslike dining room. Instead, she went into the living room, switching on lights before settling on a crimson-and-green love seat. She put the plate of cookies on the table between the love seat and sofa, then gestured for him to sit. He wanted to choose the armchair across the room, beneath a hanging lamp, but he obeyed her and sat on the couch instead.
Munching on a cookie, he gave the rest of the room a look. It was homier than the dining room, with pictures on the walls, and books, plants and collectibles scattered around. It was a comfortable room, the sort of place—maybe minus the family photos—he imagined he might have had in another place in another life.
“These are good. Did you bake them?”
“I bought them at the bakery near the college. They were out of their wonderful little fried pies—”
“With cherries, apples and apricots.”
“You’ve been there?”
He shook his head. He just knew. Sick of things he should remember but couldn’t and things he knew that he shouldn’t, he changed the subject. “Why did you come here?”
The question made her uncomfortable. She was fine asking hard questions of him, but the simplest question about her turned her face pink and made her gaze shift to the family portrait on the opposite wall. “I wanted a change.”
“Are your parents still in Dallas?”
“No. My father died five years ago. My mother died two years later.”
“No brothers or sisters?”
“No. A lot of aunts, uncles and cousins, but none I was particularly close to.”
“Why Grand Springs?”
“The job came open, and I liked the idea of living in the mountains.”
“Wait until you’ve spent your first winter here, then see if you like it. Do you ski?”
“No.”
“Hike?”
“No.”
“Camp? Fish? Take long bike rides?”
“No.”
“Then what do you do?”
“I work, and I spend time online.”
He glanced across the hall at the computer. There were few, if any, people in her life, but she had her computer. Cold company, but better than what he had. Nothing kept him company but loneliness, frustration and fear. Fear of who he had been, of who he was, of who he might never be. Fear of knowing and of never knowing.
Grimly he forced his attention back to her. “What do you do online?”
“Talk to friends. Read the paper. Check movie reviews and weather forecasts. Order books.” She shrugged. “Everything.”
“Have you ever met these friends before? In person? Face-to-face?”
Discomfort edged into her expression. “I don’t do well face-to-face.”
Maybe she was more comfortable hiding behind a computer screen. The men among those online friends didn’t know what they were missing. Even if she had described herself as five-five, blond and blue, it would say nothing about the stubborn line of her jaw or the way she turned that delicate pink when embarrassed. It didn’t give a hint of the shape of her mouth or the silkiness of her hair or the fragile air that surrounded her. “Five-five, blond and blue” could be a man’s worst nightmare…or his sweetest dream.
“So you get on the computer and talk to people you’ve never met. How do you know they are what they say they are? How do you know they’re not scam artists, stalkers, rapists or killers?”
“How do we know that about anyone?”
How did she know it about him? Point taken.
“These people don’t know me, either. They only know what I choose to tell them.”
“Wouldn’t you rather talk to a flesh-and-blood person? Someone you could see, hear, touch?”
