was doing enough of that for the both of us.”
His laugh was soft, affectionate. “I heard.”
Jessica reached for her ponytail out of habit, only to remember she’d left her hair unbound. Grant caught the movement. His gaze sharpened. In the dimness, she couldn’t decipher his expression. Uncharacteristic self-consciousness seized her.
“You have beautiful hair.” His voice deepened. “Like a flame. Or a sunset.” Scraping a hand over his face, he grimaced. “That sounded better in my head.”
She couldn’t help smiling. Funny, she’d done more of that in the past twelve hours than in the past twelve months. “I believe we can rule out poet.”
“I believe so.” Turning his attention to the sky visible beyond the overhang, he said, “Did you know the constellations are different in summer and winter?”
“I didn’t. Where did you learn that?”
“In a book maybe. Sailors need to be familiar with the stars’ patterns, right?” His mood seemed to shift. “Enough guessing for one day. Tell me about Gatlinburg. Tell me about yourself. Your family.”
Jessica complied. While living in a small town had its disadvantages—there was no hiding one’s mistakes, no secrets—she loved the mountains, the lush forests and sparkling streams, the diverse wildlife. She described the heart of town and the businesses established there, two of which were owned by her family members. Her sister Nicole had married the mercantile owner. And Josh and Kate operated a combination furniture store and photography studio. Grant asked questions from time to time. He possessed a keen intelligence, and she tempered her admiration with the reminder that not all criminals were dumb. Some were geniuses. Some were adept at deceiving those closest to them...
Stop it. You can’t live the rest of your life thinking the worst of people.
A small shadow emerged from the barn and trotted across the yard. As the black cat neared, the lamplight glinted off its golden eyes. Cinders hopped onto the porch and, bypassing Jessica, went over and sniffed Grant’s socks and pant legs.
“Who’s this?” He stretched out his fingers.
“Her name’s Cinders. Careful, she’s not all that friendly.”
Belying her words, the black feline butted her head into Grant’s palm, eager for affection. Then she promptly leaped onto his lap.
“You were saying?” Grinning, he slid her a sideways glance.
Jessica watched Cinders lap up his attention. “I’ve never seen her do that.”
“So you named her that because of her coloring?”
“Jane named her. Our older sister Megan used to entertain us with stories. For me, the scarier the better. Jane’s the opposite—she hates to be frightened. One night, after a particularly harrowing tale, this kitten hopped out of the shadows and pounced on poor Jane. Her fur was streaked with ashes. I’m not sure how she got so filthy.”
Grant sneezed. “You don’t know where she came from?”
“We searched the woods for her mother and came up empty. Cinders didn’t make it easy for us to care for her, but we managed. I get the impression she regards us as necessary but annoying.”
His tanned, capable-looking hands gently stroked her sleek fur. He sneezed again. Dipping his head, he murmured, “You and I have something in common, don’t we, Cinders?”
Another sneeze overtook him, and he winced. Either his head or his side was paining him. Maybe both. Her mother had applied fresh ointment and gauze that morning and told her it looked the same as yesterday. Taking in his profile, Jessica worried over the possibility of infection.
Only because he’d be forced to stay here longer, she reassured herself. Her focus must be on her own life, her own problems. Not someone passing through their lives. They would do their Christian duty and send him off with warm wishes.
Jessica frowned. “Grant, I think you may have a sensitivity to cats.”
“I can put up with itchy eyes and a runny nose for my newfound friend. After all, she’s the first one I’ve made here in Tennessee.”
“You and I aren’t friends?” she said partly in jest, the tiniest bit hurt that he’d discounted her.
In the intimate closeness the serene, dark forest imparted, he lifted his head to regard her with eyes that had deepened to a navy hue. “That’s a question only you can answer, Jessica. Friends trust each other. They don’t suspect them of deceit and ill intent.”
There was no condemnation in his tone. He’d spoken frankly, but there was understanding there, too. As if he identified with her misgivings.
“In that case, the answer is yes.”
The slow arrival of gratitude, then relief and finally happiness passing over his clean-shaven features did serious damage to her defenses. Bolting to her feet, she bid him a brief good-night and reentered the house, seeking sanctuary in her room.
She couldn’t allow herself to like Grant Parker. Empathy was acceptable. Concern for his health was natural. But opening herself up to a man, even for something as innocent as friendship, could very well be the first step to disaster.
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