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Jason straightened. “That’s not what happened, and you know it. Will made the decision to rush into a building and not wait for backup. That’s not on you.”
“I should’ve known what he was going to do. I should’ve stopped him.”
“There was no way anyone could know what he was going to do.”
“I was his partner...”
“Partner, yes. Keeper, no. Trying to get yourself killed, or trying to redeem yourself by continuously putting yourself in danger, is not going to bring your partner back. So you’ll have to find another reason to stay away from the lovely Lindsay. Because I have to warn you, there are plenty others—me included—who wouldn’t mind...”
“I said stay away from her.”
“I’ll stay away if you’re making a move. Otherwise...” Jason taunted him.
“No. She deserves a whole lot better than a jaded ex-FBI agent like me or you.”
He could hear Jason’s laughter all the way back to his car. Damn it to hell. Before Miss Betty O’Hara had taken him in all those years ago, he’d learned the hard way, in the many, many homes he’d lived in for short periods of time, not to become too attached to anything or anyone. It could be taken away from him at any time. As was confirmed when first Miss Betty and then Will were killed.
He’d thought his strength and his fists could help him in any situation. But when Miss Betty fell ill and then died, or when Will stormed into that building and lost his life, there wasn’t anything he could do. And the gut-wrenching pain he’d experienced when they’d died wasn’t something he’d survive if there were a next time.
So he’d made sure to keep people at a distance, to not become involved with any woman for more than sex. That resolve had worked until he’d stepped into the bar in Alisson and had seen Lindsay Wilson for the first time.
She’d literally taken his breath away, and the clear lines he’d drawn to safeguard himself had been blurred. Cursing, he started his car. He had a window to replace and then he’d wait in the coffee shop until Lindsay was finished for the day. From there, he’d have a clear view of the shop, and she wouldn’t know he was there.
––––––––
Lilly locked the frontdoor and walked back to where Lindsay was counting the money.
“Wow, we had a busy morning,” Lilly said. “I love it. People love your products; we can hardly keep up. How did your chat with Stacy go? How soon can she create a website for all your lovely oils and creams?”
Lindsay smiled. Lilly’s enthusiasm was one of her many endearing qualities. “We talked about what kind of look I’d want, the idea of a logo, and more or less what and how I’d want to do this. She’ll send me some ideas and then we’ll proceed from there.”
Lilly rubbed her hands. “Ooh, so exciting!”
“Yes, it is. That’s why I’m going to Seattle next week. I’ve made appointments with our suppliers. I need to get stock and just talk to them about my ideas.”
Lilly frowned. “It sounds great, but should you leave now? When your ex is in town and looking for you?”
“A very good reason why I want to leave town now,” Lindsay said. “Are you happy to run the shop on your own this week? I’m going to make a huge batch of creams this afternoon. It should be enough for the coming week. If you don’t think you’re up for it, we can always close the shop for a week.”
“Never!” Lilly exclaimed. “It won’t be the first time, remember. I’ve done this before, when you and Charlie and your brother went to Seattle.”
“If you’re sure, then great. I’m going with Eleanor and Brooke and we’re leaving tomorrow morning. They’ll probably stay a bit longer in Seattle, but I’ll be back on Friday. You sure you’ll be okay?”
Lilly took her bag from under the counter. “Of course. I’m off. I’ll see you tonight at the bar?”
“Maybe not tonight. But next weekend when we’re back.”
“Have a great time!” With a wave, Lilly bounded out of the shop.
Lindsay sighed. Oh, to be so young and carefree again. Grimacing, she locked the front door. Twenty-six wasn’t old; she just sometimes wished she’d never laid eyes on Mark Taylor. She’d like to be the carefree person she used to be before her world had changed forever.
She quickly looked around the shop. The windows were closed, the door locked; she could go to her studio. At this point, she was quite hungry, but she wanted to begin mixing the creams. Maybe she could slip out a little bit later.
The studio was small but ideal at the moment. She put her earphones on, picked out an album of the latest country artist she was enjoying, and sat down in front of the long bench where the magic happened.
Bliss. She didn’t have to talk to anyone, the stupid butterflies were quiet, and she could do what she loved doing. She had still been a nursing sister back in South Africa when she’d been introduced to the age-old healing powers of essential oils, and after she’d bought a starter kit with a diffuser, she was hooked. Soon she was mixing oils and making skin products for everyone around her—until she’d met Mark. He quickly put an end to her plans of making it a business. It was a stupid idea, just what he’d expect from someone as stupid as her. He’d called her “stupid” so many times, she’d actually been at a point where she’d believed him.
But when she and Charlie had moved here from South Africa, she knew immediately that she wanted to work with essential oils. And here there were so many wonderful suppliers, she was in heaven. Finally, she was able to do something that gave her joy. Having her own shop, selling the creams she mixed by hand, seeing the pleasure on her client’s faces were all her dreams come true. And it was going so well. Over the past few months, she’d had many visitors from out of town, people who’d heard about her products from locals.
