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‘Thanks. I’m probably covered in dust and looking a right mess, aren’t I?’ she remarked nervously.
The words were out before she could check them. She could have kicked herself, because now Jake would think she was fishing for a compliment—which was absurd when she did honestly believe she must resemble something the cat had dragged in.
But with a charismatic quirk at a corner of his lips Jake elected not to comment. Instead he walked to the door, opened it and gave her a brief salute. ‘I’ll see you tonight. Five-forty-five. Don’t be late.’
As he stepped out onto the pavement Caitlin had a distinct sense of being dismissed. More to the point, she felt bereft, as if he’d somehow taken a part of her with him. The bell jangled as the door swung back on its hinges and she released a long slow breath, as though she’d been holding on to it for nothing less than a lifetime.
* * *
The realisation that she was late, even though she had a perfectly legitimate reason, made Caitlin furious with herself. Parking her car on the gravel drive that led up to the sombre-looking Victorian church hall, she bit back a ripe curse, fumbling to organise her car keys and purse as she shut the car door behind her. To add insult to injury, a light rain had started to fall.
She glanced down at her watch and her anxious gaze once more registered the time. Six-fifteen… She wasn’t just late—she was very late. But how was she to have known that a customer would walk in the door at exactly a minute before five-thirty? She could hardly turn the girl away—especially when she’d tearfully told Caitlin that she’d just broken up with her boyfriend and someone had recommended she get some rose quartz to help her.
Lia had often teased her friend that she was a magnet for the heartsick, but Caitlin’s naturally compassionate nature wouldn’t allow her to stand back and do nothing when someone was hurting. When push came to shove, though, however she explained her tardiness to Jake Sorenson something told her it wasn’t going to cut any ice.
Summoning every scrap of courage she could muster, she pushed open the creaky wooden door that led into the porch, wrinkling her nose at the pall of mustiness and damp that clung to the air, her heart bumping against her ribs at the sound of instruments tuning up.
Behind the door that led into the cavernous hall Jake was testing the microphone in the familiar time-honoured way of performers the world over: ‘One two, one two…’
Murmuring a briefly fervent prayer, Caitlin pushed open the door. The overhead lights were dimmed, she noticed, and the three members of the band on stage continued to play as Rick Young melted out of the shadows to position himself in front of her. Despite his serious expression, at least his hazel eyes were twinkling, she saw.
‘You’re late, pretty lady. Not a good start, just thought I’d warn you.’
He jerked his chin towards Jake as Blue Sky’s enigmatic manager jumped off the stage, his long jeans-clad legs carrying him purposefully towards Caitlin. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that he wasn’t happy. Blast!
Her chilled fingers curled over the car keys in her pocket and held them tight. It wasn’t as if she was late deliberately. She honestly wanted to take this amazing opportunity they were offering her. But right now, judging by the fierce scowl on Jake’s handsome face, it might just be about to be taken away from her.
‘I’m sorry I’m late. I just—’
‘What was the last thing I said to you?’ he barked.
Startled, Caitlin glanced across at Rick. His expression conveyed that he’d witnessed similar scenarios too many times before to be at all perturbed.
‘Don’t be late?’ she ventured, her teeth anxiously clamping down on her lip.
‘And didn’t I also tell you to be here at five-forty-five? It’s now twenty past six. You’re thirty-five minutes late. That’s not acceptable, Miss Ryan. It’s not acceptable at all.’
Jake was shifting restlessly from one black-booted foot to the other, a muscle ominously flinching in the side of his lean, unshaven jaw. Caitlin didn’t dare quip that his watch must be fast, even though it clearly was. The fact that he was unshaven made him look edgy and dangerous—as if anything could happen and probably would.
