Page 28 of In the Dead of Night

She turned to face him. “You’re sure?”

Nick struggled not to let his eyes drop to take in the length of her. “As long as you don’t snore.”

“I don’t.”

Something went soft in his chest when she smiled. Against his better judgment, he smiled back. It had been a long time since he’d experienced this level of affection for a woman. Not since his late wife. There was a part of him that wanted to believe his burgeoning feelings for Sara were a good thing. A sure indication that he was healing.

But after losing Nancy, he’d sworn he’d never care for another human being the way he’d cared for her. Life was too precarious. One minute the woman you loved could be in your arms, the next she could be lying alongside the road dead. Nick had no intention of ever having his heart ripped from his chest that way ever again.

He told himself that wouldn’t be a problem. He’d learned to be cautious. He’d had the chance to begin several relationships in the last year, but all of them had ended badly. Because you sabotaged them, a little voice reminded. Only later did he realize he’d only been going through the motions. The truth of the matter was he’d never let himself get too close. Never even had sex. Some shrink would probably call it fear of intimacy. Nick figured he was just playing it safe.

There was nothing safe about Sara. She was different. For the first time since Nancy’s death, he wanted more. More than was wise. More than he could ever allow.

Realizing he was staring at her, he put the reel-to-reel projector in a large plastic bag and sealed it with boxing tape. “Let me get this processed and we’ll go.”

Nick removed the reels and sealed them in a separate bag. He gave his work only half of his attention. The other half was on Sara as she wandered the attic, looking in boxes, checking floorboards and any dark niche someone might use as a hiding place.

It was nearly midnight when he piled everything into a beat-up cardboard box and the two of them carried it down the stairs.

Rain fell in sheets as Nick carted the box to his vehicle and shoved it into the trunk. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Sara lugging her suitcase down the sidewalk. The damn thing was almost as big as she was. Crossing to her, he commandeered it. “Get in!” he shouted to be heard above the rain.

“I need my own car.”

“Sara…”

But she was already digging for her keys and walking away.

Shaking his head, Nick watched her get into her car and waited for her to start the engine. Starting his own vehicle, he pulled from the driveway and onto the coast road.

He should have been concentrating on his driving. But by the time he hit the speed limit, the only thing Nick could focus on was the headlight glare of the car behind him, the memory of Sara’s sultry perfume, and the knowledge she would be spending the night with him.

One night, he promised himself. Tomorrow, he would make sure she checked in to one of the bed and breakfasts in town for safekeeping. There was no way he was going to risk spending the night with a woman he couldn’t keep his eyes off of no matter how hard he tried.

* * *

NICK’S BUNGALOW sat at the end of a long narrow lane shrouded with trees and fog. The rain had slowed to a drizzle by the time he parked adjacent to the garage. Sara disembarked, the earthy scents of wet foliage, rich earth and clean air filling her lungs. Because of the dark she couldn’t see much of the house itself. Just that it was a small one-story structure with cedar siding and a river-rock chimney. Mullioned windows looked out over the woods. The front porch was made for sitting.

“This is a beautiful location.” She lugged her suitcase from the trunk.

“I like the privacy.” But his smile looked tight and uncomfortable on his face. “Wait till you see it in the daylight.”

He carried the box containing the projector and tapes to the front door, unlocked it and turned on the light. Sara rolled her suitcase inside and was immediately taken aback by the rustic charm of the room. Huge cedar beams ran the length of the ceiling. A colorful Native American print rug covered glossy oak floors. An overstuffed sofa in hues of turquoise, yellow and beige blended nicely with the adobe-textured walls. But it was the river-rock hearth that dominated the room and drew the eye.

“It’s lovely, Nick.”

“A little messy. I wasn’t expecting company.”

Two thick novels lay face down in front of the fireplace. A reader, Sara thought, and smiled. Several fringed pillows lay on the floor. A soda can sat on a coaster on a rough-pine coffee table.

“How long have you lived here?”

“Almost two years.”

“You live alone?” Sara wanted to believe it was an innocent question. But it wasn’t entirely. A small part of her was curious about this man—and wanted to know if there was a woman in his life. Not because she was interested in anything more than friendship, she assured herself, but because Nick was an old friend and she wanted to get caught up on what was going on in his life.

“Just Homer and me.”

“Homer?”