The Man Behind The Mask: How to Melt a Frozen Heart / The Man Behind the Pinstripes / Falling for Mr Mysterious. Melissa McClone
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the good would be that thing? That thing that would break him wide-open?
His contemplation of his treacherous inner landscape was cut blessedly short when Brendan heard a soft snuffling noise on the other end of the phone line. He tried to dismiss it as static, but the hair on the back of his neck prickled.
Maybe he was psychic. “Are you crying?”
The truth was his inner landscape seemed less treacherous than that.
The truth was he knew Nora Anderson had been avoiding him. And the truth was, he knew it had been a good thing. For them to avoid each other. Look at how quickly his intention to be a Good Samaritan by making her laugh had become complicated. By her hips under his hands. And then by her lips. On his.
“N-n-no.”
But she was. Crying. Was it over an iguana? He was pretty sure she had said she was used to dealing with tragedy with animals. She had strategies for not getting attached.
Not that she seemed to stick to any of them!
An awful possibility occurred to him. Maybe it was because he had just thought of his wife that he was suddenly aware how quickly things could go sideways.
“Have you been having outbursts since you hit your head?” he asked.
“I am not having an outburst!” Now Nora was insulted.
Brendan was astounded that he felt guilty. When he’d been dancing her down the aisle of the animal shelter, he really should have been asking her concussion-related questions. And instead of doing the easy thing, and avoiding her and all the complications that her lips had caused in his uncomplicated life over the last few days, he should have been evaluating her medical condition.
“Have you been to see a doctor?” he asked.
“I don’t need a doctor!”
“Look, outbursts can be a sign of concussion—”
“I am not having an outburst!” Each word was enunciated with extreme control, and then the phone went dead in his hands. Nora Anderson had hung up on him!
It seemed to Brendan that hanging up on someone could be evidence of an outburst.
Luke, flushed from heat, his hair flattened by sweat, came out of the flower bed, a tangle of bramble in his gloved hand. “Is Aunt Nora coming with us? For ice cream.”
“I’m not sure what your aunt is doing.” Except he was sure she was crying over an iguana. “Has she, er, been having outbursts?”
“What does that mean?”
“Crying. Snapping.”
“Oh. You mean PMS.”
Brendan wasn’t sure if he should reprimand Luke or not, but a look of such deep masculine sympathy passed between them that he just couldn’t.
Luke seemed to contemplate the fact his aunt might be a little off today. “Maybe just bring me back a milkshake,” he muttered, and disappeared into the garden again.
Then he peeked back out. “Can you get something for Deedee, too? And just a little dish of vanilla for Ranger. I’ll pay for it.” He glanced toward the house. “She’s trying not to. But she likes him. Ranger.”
There seemed to be a bit of that going around. People trying not to like each other, and liking each other anyway.
Luke was a prime example. It was damn hard not to like this kid.
And that went ditto for his aggravating aunt.
Knowing she wasn’t going to appreciate it one little bit, Brendan made his way to the vet’s office.
Nora was sitting in the waiting room, doing her best to look like a woman who would not cry over an iguana. The iguana was in a cage at her feet. It had a ribbon around its neck. Who tied a ribbon around the neck of an iguana they planned not to get attached to?
When she saw him, she folded her hands over her chest.
“I. Can. Handle. It. Myself.”
“Uh-huh.” It was the first time he’d seen her in a dress. Or in clothes that fit, for that matter. It was a denim jumper. She had amazing legs. It was kind of like Ranger, hard not to like something so adorable.
He ignored her glare and took the seat next to her. “Have you decided what to do then?”
He slid her a look. She gnawed her lip. He knew darn well that meant she hadn’t. He remembered how her lip tasted.
What was he doing here?
Trying to do the right thing, he reminded himself sternly. Brendan took one more quick look at her, and then got up and sauntered past the receptionist and into the back to talk to Herb Bentley.
“Okay,” Brendan said, coming back into the waiting room. Nora was fishing through her handbag, looking for tissues. “Let’s go for milkshakes.”
While she was sipping her shake, he could grill her about concussion symptoms. He would look up a complete list of them on his iPad while waiting in line. There was always a line at the Moo Factory on Saturday.
She looked stubborn. “In case you’ve forgotten, I have to make a decision about the iguana.”
“I’ve already made it,” he said. He picked up the cage and put it on the receptionist’s desk.
Nora bristled, balled up a tissue in her fist. “You made the decision? But you can’t!”
It wasn’t exactly an outburst, but it certainly seemed as if she might be on the edge of one.
Patiently, Brendan told her, “I told Doc I’d pay for the operation. Let’s go have ice cream.”
“I didn’t tell you about Iggy because I needed you to fix it!” she said.
“Whatever.”
“No! It’s not whatever! I told you because I needed a little tiny bit of feedback. I needed to not feel so alone. I trusted you. I didn’t tell you because I needed the decision made for me.”
She looked as if she wanted to stick her fist in her mouth after she admitted that. About not wanting to make the decision by herself. She had let it slip how alone she felt in the world.
He looked at her lips.
Well, that shouldn’t last long. Her being alone. At the moment, she was the best kept secret in Hansen. When word got out, every unattached guy for a hundred miles would be beating a path to her doorstep. Brendan didn’t even want to question the hollow feeling that realization caused in the pit of his stomach.
But only, he told himself, because he knew she’d made a bad choice once. Only because he knew it would destroy that kid up there slaving away in his grandmother’s garden if Nora did it again.
Why was he worried about her? She claimed not to like attachments. On the other hand, she was already attached to the iguana, and God knew there were lots of lizards around.
“My paying for the procedure is no big deal,” he explained patiently. “You could be having cognitive difficulties, postconcussion, that were making it hard for you to make a decision.”
“I don’t like iguanas. But that doesn’t mean I want to have the decision whether he lives or dies in my hands.”
“Well, now it’s not. There. Solved.”
“Oh!”
“Irritability,” he said sagely. He knew it would be wiser to keep that observation to himself, but he was surprised to find a part of him was actually enjoying this little interchange.
“I am not having cognitive difficulties! And I’m not irritable.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“It’s justified irritability,