Mended Hearts. Ruth Herne Logan
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blue on his lunch hour to thank her for the copious notes she’d sent him might have something to do with that.
Polite, he told himself.
Nice try, his conscience replied.
He jumped out of the car, rounded the hood and opened the passenger door for her. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride. It’s cooking out here today.”
She looked trapped but grateful. The midday sun was blazing hot, a late September anomaly. “Thanks.”
“You always walk?” he asked as he climbed in the driver’s side a moment later.
“Umm. No.”
He frowned, then nodded. “That’s right, I saw your car last night.”
“How did you know it was my car?” She tilted her head, her freckles darker in the bright light of the noon sun.
“Because it was the only vehicle there when I left last night?” He shot her a grin, angled down Whitmore and pulled into the library lot along the curve heading toward Route 19. “Sitting right where it’s sitting now. Car trouble?” he asked, brows bent, his look encompassing the car parked exactly where it had been fourteen hours before.
She sighed and made a face. “I locked my keys in it.”
“Last night?”
“Yes.”
“So you walked home? At ten o’clock?” He didn’t try to temper the concern edging his voice.
She turned more fully, surprised by his reaction. “My options were limited. Because it was ten o’clock.”
“You could have called me.” The suggestion made her sit back farther, a touch of awareness brightening her features. But right now he was too busy thinking about what could happen to a woman alone on country roads at that hour. “I was minutes from here. I could have swung back, picked you up and got you home safely.”
“Which was the outcome as you can see from my unscathed body.” She waved a hand toward herself. “And since you were decidedly cool last night, why on earth would I have called you for help?”
“Because …” He paused. “Because I want you safe,” he went on, meeting her gaze, letting his eyes say more than his words. “It was pouring rain before I got three blocks away. You had to be soaked.”
“Drenched.” She sighed, her face a mix of resignation with a touch of sorrow.
Why sorrow?
He had no idea, but a part of him longed to wipe it away, replace the look of anxiety with joy and youthful abandon. Although at thirty-five, youthful abandon had escaped him about twelve years ago, when his father’s ignominious death marked the end of a dark era.
But something about being around Hannah made him want to embrace that lost joy. That family camaraderie. Since that was impossible, he’d try to figure out what was going on here. Looking at her, it seemed fairly obvious, but was that emotion or hormones?
Both.
“So you walked home in the pouring rain, then sat down and typed up copious notes for my benefit?”
“I like to stay on top of things.” She shrugged as if it was no big deal.
Jeff had been in business long enough to know a good work ethic was key to success. Hannah’s drive and determination belied her fragmented lifestyle. She obviously embraced her privacy, a concept he respected. He climbed out of the car and circled the hood, meeting her as she emerged. “Thank you, Hannah.”
She glanced up, those blue eyes meeting his, a flash of awareness in her manner. She looked flustered again, only it wasn’t the insecure agitation he’d seen before. This implicit nervousness stemmed from him, their proximity, the look he offered that probably said too much.
He leaned down, holding her attention, deciding direct and to-the-point worked best most of the time. “Spare me the lecture of how this could never work, we have nothing in common, we barely get along and you’re not at a point in your life to consider a relationship with a stuffed shirt like me.”
A tiny smile softened the awareness. “Thanks for saving me the trouble of the summation.”
“Except …” He moved closer, crowding her space, watching her pretend he wasn’t encroaching on her emotions, her equanimity. “I want you to promise me something.”
“What?”
Those eyes, that summer-sky blue, with tiny points of ivory offering inner light. “If you ever have car trouble, locked keys, a breakdown, a flat tire … Call me. Okay?”
She raised her cell phone and waggled it, then headed for the library door. “A little tricky since I don’t carry your number around.”
He snagged the phone, ignored her protest and proceeded to program his number into the speed dial.
He grinned and handed her phone back once she’d unlocked the library door. “I actually stopped by today with a purpose in mind.”
“Because men like you always have a purpose.”
“Since when did that become a bad thing?”
“Not bad, predictable. What was this purpose that dragged you out of your office and brought you here in person when you have a perfectly good phone at your disposal?”
He maintained a strong, sincere expression. “To thank you for the notes. They’re perfect and I realized from the time stamp that you stayed up late to finish them. And now I know that it was after you got soaked to the skin.”
“No problem.”
“I’m grateful, Hannah.” He reached out as the door swung open and laid a gentle hand on her left shoulder. The feel of her sun-kissed skin was warm and smooth, a summer touch in the grip of fall.
Her look said she wasn’t immune to the buzz and that almost made him take that last step forward, but they both knew that wasn’t a good idea. The look she gave him, yearning mixed with caution, made him go slow, which was for the best, right?
A car pulled in behind his. A woman tooted the horn in welcome, and a young boy waved from the front seat, his face a blend of excitement and eagerness.
Hannah smiled, the anxiety erased, wiped out by the smile of a child. A part of Jeff’s heart melted on the spot. He released her arm, stepped back and nodded toward the car. “One of your young suitors?”
Her grin delighted him. “This is Jacob. We’re working together on some really cool projects and he had a half day of school today so we’re meeting earlier than usual.”
One of her tutoring duties, Jeff realized. The boy dashed up the steps, ignored Jeff completely and launched a hug at Hannah. “I got them all right except the one about the gasoline.”
She laughed and squatted to his level. “I saw that. Two hundreds and a ninety average out to ninety-six.” She watched as he absorbed what she was saying. When he nodded agreement, she ruffled his hair. “That’s an A, kid. Pretty solid.”
“An A.” He turned and sent his mother a smile that she matched. “I got an A, Mom.”
“I’m so proud of you, Jake.” She stooped, planted a kiss to his hair, then shooed him inside before facing Hannah. “He has never been this excited about learning. Not ever. His teachers are ecstatic and his grades are wonderful. I can’t begin to thank you enough, Hannah.”
Hannah’s smile said she expected no thanks. “That A says it all. Head on in, Callie. I’ll be right there.”
“All right.” The mother smiled and nodded to Jeff, then stuck out her hand. “I’m Callie Burdick and that whirlwind was my son Jake.”
Jeff shook her hand, nodded appreciation toward the boy and grinned. “Jeff Brennan. Hannah and I are cochairing