Her Second-Chance Man. Cara Colter
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cheerful-looking auburn curls.
She had a basket over her wrist that overflowed with freshly cut flowers and greenery. Under different circumstances, he might have appreciated her loveliness and that of the scene a great deal more. But all he could think now, was, It wasn’t her.
He got out of the truck, and she skidded to a halt. Her eyes went very wide, and then she glanced over her shoulder, looking like a deer who wanted to bolt back into the safety of the deep green forest that surrounded this little meadow.
He was a big man, and he knew his size could be intimidating, especially to a woman who was in the middle of nowhere and not within shouting distance of a neighbor.
“Sorry to bother you, ma’am,” he said, and leaned against his open truck door. He let it provide a slight barrier between them, making no move toward her and keeping his voice deliberately deep, calm and soothing. “I’m hoping you can help me. I’m looking for…”
But the words didn’t come. She tilted her chin and moved toward him again. He stopped speaking and studied her, feeling the shock of her eyes. They were green and deep, as refreshing as a midsummer dip in a calm, forest pool. They were the kind of eyes a man never forgot, ever.
Even way back then, when she had been a few pounds overweight, plain and beyond the pale of the high school hierarchy, even then he had looked into her eyes and felt enchanted.
Enchanted enough to say, “I’ll call.”
And, of course, then he had come to his senses. And never called.
He could see the same memory of that broken promise from long ago flit across the clear surface of her eyes, and he knew why she had wanted to run.
It wasn’t because she thought he was a menacing stranger. No, it was because Jessica Moran knew exactly who he was.
But she still moved toward him, halting close enough that he could smell the spice and lemon scent of her above the flowers. She squared her shoulders, pointed her chin, and came forward the final few steps, grace and confidence having swept away the clumsy, awkward girl he remembered. She hooked the basket over her forearm and extended her hand.
Her face was narrow, elfin, and dominated by the huge, soulful pools of her unforgettable eyes. Freckles dotted her nose. Surely, she had not always had lips like that, as plump and inviting as a ripe strawberry?
“Brian,” she said, and her voice was clear and melodious. Now he remembered her voice, too, remembered how it had been part of the enchantment. “I was so sorry to hear about your brother and Amanda.”
Her hand in his was small but surprisingly strong. He felt the oddest desire to linger over the handshake and explore the energy coming from her, but she pulled her hand back after the briefest of touches.
He recalled that his sister-in-law, Amanda, had been in the same grade as Jessica at high school. He could not imagine that Amanda, or her best friend Lucinda, had ever offered Jessica anything except small, not-so-subtle cruelties.
Lucinda was the girl who had kept him from ever making that call.
Something about Jessica’s graciousness made his voice stick in his throat. He now remembered things that he should have remembered long before coming down this road.
“Jessica,” he said, finally finding his voice and trying to hide his discomfort and his shock at her amazing metamorphosis. “I didn’t recognize you.”
“I’m sure I’ve changed a good deal since we last saw each other. What brings you here?” Polite, but nothing more.
He hesitated. Now would be the time to admit that he’d made a dumb error and just head on back down her driveway. Instead, he heard himself saying, “Do you remember that time I hit that dog at the end of your driveway, and we brought it here?”
Something flickered behind her eyes—it looked suspiciously like pain—and she nodded, a trifle curtly.
He cursed himself for coming here, for following a desperate whim.
He was glad that Michelle chose that moment to slide from the truck, her little bundle cradled in her arms, her eyes huge, begging. “Can you fix my puppy?”
Jessica gave him a startled look and then turned to the girl. Her eyes widened and she held out her hands. Michelle surrendered the weak puppy, and Brian could not help but frown remembering how his niece had refused to turn it over to him.
Jessica took the puppy, and he could see the tenderness of her touch as she cupped its body, ran her hands over it and then rested them above a heart beating too rapidly. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them she shot him another look. He saw a flash in their green depths.
Anger.
Not that he could blame her. He had come with an impossible task. He had placed her in a terrible situation. He could see, from the tiny muscle working frantically in her jaw, that she did not hold out much hope for the dog, and that she knew it was really a young girl’s heart that he had placed in her trust.
But there was none of that anger as she turned and with a movement of her shoulder invited Michelle to follow her down the winding cobblestone path that led to the cottage.
Tiny purple violets grew among the cobbles and every time he crushed one under foot he was enveloped in the soft fragrance of it.
“I’m Jessica,” she said over her shoulder to his niece. Her voice could have coaxed wild birds from their nests. “You look so like your mother, Amanda. I knew her in high school. She was beautiful, and so are you.”
He realized he’d been so thrown off balance by the appearance of the new and improved Jessica Moran that he’d forgotten introductions.
Jessica’s tone was so genuine that Michelle blushed and preened despite herself.
The sad truth was that his niece was far from beautiful, especially given her fondness for too much makeup. She dyed her hair that bleak shade of black. She was too thin, and she was having an outbreak of acne.
And yet Jessica’s tone made him look at his niece again. He saw something different than he had ever seen before. The deep blue of her eyes, the sweep of her cheekbones, the slender column of her neck.
He felt his hackles rise. Was Jessica that much of a magician that she could make a man see things? Or was he just looking harder since he had obviously made such a poor judgement about Jessica herself in those awkward years of adolescence?
“This is my niece, Michelle,” he said belatedly.
“My dog’s name is O’Henry.” Michelle gave him a look that said the dog was the important one and Brian had gotten it all wrong. So, what else was new? As far as he could tell he hadn’t gotten one thing right since his niece had arrived. With the notable exception of the dog.
“After the writer?” Jessica asked.
Writer? He looked between the two females, baffled.
“Yes!” Michelle looked thrilled. So, Jessica got it right, first try.
Brian had assumed the dog was named after a brand of chocolate bar. He’d gone so far as to assume that Michelle liked them. He’d bought her one and slipped it into her lunch as a surprise. Another obvious error, since the lunch kit came back with the small gift of chocolate untouched.
“What do you like best by him?” Jessica asked. “No…let me guess. The Gift of the Magi?”
“Oh,” Michelle breathed, delighted. Something leaped in the air between his niece and Jessica, and the hackles on his neck rose again.
Back in high school they had called Jessica a witch and a weirdo. But he had known the truth, even though he had not come to her defense. She was not a witch, or a weirdo. Nor was she a magician.
She was a healer.
He had the uneasy feeling that he had not come here for the dog. In some way he did not fully understand, his