Second Chance with the Billionaire. Janice Maynard
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Conor avoided eye contact with Ellie. “I’ll walk you out to the car,” she said, miffed that he was being standoffish.
“It’s not necessary.”
Was it only her, or did his smile seem forced? “I know that,” she said. “But I want to.”
Conor didn’t even pause on the front porch. He strode down the path as if he had a plane to catch and not much time to make his connection. “Bye, Ellie.” He tossed the words over his shoulder, barely slowing down.
“Wait,” she said, grabbing his shirtsleeve. “Tell me how Kirby sounded to you. Do you think he’s okay? This was the first time I’ve heard him laugh like that since the accident.”
Conor pulled away but came to a halt, turning to face her. “He’s going to be fine, Ellie. Losing the foot has knocked the wind out of him, but he hasn’t given up, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I was worried. Thank you for coming today,” she said. “And thank you for the lunch.”
Conor seemed uncomfortable with her gratitude. “No problem.”
Well, shoot. “Did I do something to offend you?” she asked bluntly. “You’re acting weird all of a sudden.”
The tiny flicker of a muscle in his cheek told her that he understood what she was saying. He stood there staring at her, his expression impassive. But his hands clenched in fists at his sides.
The sky was cloudless, the sun beaming down unforgivingly. A trickle of sweat rolled down her back. Conor’s posture was like stone. He was a completely different man from the one she’d spoken with at the saloon...or even at the ski lodge.
She saw his throat work.
“I owe you an apology,” he said. The words seemed ripped from his chest.
“I don’t understand.”
“Kirby told me about your husband. About Kevin. I’m so damned sorry, Ellie.”
His sympathy caught her completely off guard, though she should have guessed at some level that Kirby would spill the beans. “Thank you.” What else was there to say? She couldn’t tell him how she was feeling...how she had suffered. How she still suffered.
“To have dealt with that and also caring for Kirby...you’re a strong woman.” She could swear he was anguished on her behalf. But instead of feeling warmed by his empathy, it made her want to run.
She shrugged. “I don’t feel strong. Most days I feel like a juggler with too many oranges and too few hands. But I don’t see why this requires an apology.”
“I flirted with you. I saw you weren’t wearing a wedding ring and I assumed—”
“That I was divorced,” she said quickly.
He nodded, his eyes bleak. “Lord, Ellie, I never even considered the fact that you were a widow.”
“Does it matter?” She was shriveling inside, actively pained at the thought of discussing Kevin with Conor Kavanagh. Her guilt consumed her. What would Conor think if he ever found out the truth...the truth that not even Kirby knew?
“Yeah,” he said, the word harsh. “I’m not usually such an idiot. I hope you’ll accept my apology.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. I am single, Conor, whether I want to be or not.”
He ignored her words as if she had never spoken. “I’ll do what I can for Kirby. And if I can help you in any way, all you need to do is ask. You’re a mother and a daughter and a sister and a granddaughter. That’s a lot for anyone to handle. I’d like to make things easier for you.”
“Kirby needs your help, not me.” She didn’t want to be Conor Kavanagh’s charity case. She was lonely and afraid and confused. The thought of resurrecting her friendship with Conor had kept her going lately. Now, even that was in jeopardy.
Conor stared at her, his gaze shuttered. “I’ll be in touch with Kirby. Goodbye, Ellie.”
Conor spent a sleepless night, largely due to his dreams. Even knowing that Ellie was a grieving widow didn’t keep his subconscious from going after what it wanted in erotic, carnal vignettes. The little devil on his shoulder pointed out the opportunity to take advantage of a vulnerable woman.
He wouldn’t do that. Probably. Definitely.
When he heard Ellie had come home to Silver Glen, he had visions of reconnecting with the laughing, happy sixteen-year-old girl he had known. At some level, he resented the fact that she had an entire life he knew nothing about. He wanted her to be the girl in his fantasies. The childhood friend. The innocent first love.
Even to himself he had to admit the problem with that rationale. Though he had never married, he’d had two pretty serious relationships. Both of them had ended for different reasons, but he’d been emotionally invested each time. In between, he’d sown his share of wild oats.
He liked women. The way they smelled. The way they moved. The interesting ways their minds worked.
What he didn’t like was the idea of competing with a dead man.
Did that make him petty? Or simply pragmatic?
Beyond that conundrum was the knowledge that he and Ellie were not suited for each other. He was still the kind of man she had once rejected. He hadn’t changed. Not really. It would be better for both of them if he kept his distance.
He called Kirby early and made arrangements to pick him up at ten. “I’ll wait in the car,” he said. “And keep the A/C going. It’s hot as hell today.”
The stalled-out weather front was unrelenting. Humidity and a scorching summer sun alternately baked and broiled the town. But the real reasons he decided not to go into the house were twofold. He didn’t want to see Ellie, and he did want to watch Kirby walk to the car.
He sent a text when he pulled up in front of the house. Moments later, as if he had been waiting by the door, Kirby appeared on the porch. As Conor watched, the other man made his way down the walk.
To a casual observer, Kirby’s legs and gait would appear normal. But Conor looked beneath the surface. He saw the effort Kirby was making to walk naturally. Instead of looking toward the car, Kirby’s eyes were trained on the ground as if something might jump up at any moment to trip him and send him flying.
Conor’s heart contracted in sympathy, but he knew that kind of response would be the last thing Kirby wanted. Kirby didn’t need Conor’s platitudes. What he needed was to feel normal.
Leaning across the passenger seat, Conor unlocked the door and shoved it open. “Climb in, my friend. We’ve got a full day planned.”
Kirby eased his big body into the car and shut the door. His forehead was beaded with sweat and his lips pressed together in a white-rimmed line. “I’m looking forward to it,” he said.
Conor drummed his hands on the steering wheel. Then he sighed. “Do you have a cane, Kirby? Do you need it?”
Kirby stared straight ahead, his tumultuous emotions etched in his body language. “Did I look that bad tottering out here?” he asked, the question clipped with frustration.
“You looked fine. Honestly. But I know you, man. You once played an entire quarter of football with a busted wrist. Today, though, we’re not out to prove anything. So, tell me the truth.”
“Yes and yes.” Kirby’s breathing was shallow, his skin clammy and pale. He dropped his head against the back of the seat and muttered an expletive under his breath.
“Do you have any objections if I go get the damned thing?”
Kirby