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“Lord.” The micro-prayer might be one word, but she knew God heard her heart.
She closed her eyes, glad for the sunglasses that hid her eyes, which might stop any passersby from wondering if she was a town drunk sitting talking to herself in the park.
A bird’s persistent twittering drew her attention above, and then her gaze fell on the bank across the street. This was stupid. She rose from her position. She had no wish to give off stalker vibes and make a certain somebody think she was watching him.
She was halfway to her car when the bank’s doors opened and Jackson reappeared.
Oh. She swallowed and stumbled to a stop.
Okay, so she had thought Jackson Reilly looked good dressed in jeans, boots, and a checked shirt. But that was nothing compared to seeing him dressed up. Sure, the jeans and boots might be much the same, although a little less faded and scuffed, but with a nice collared shirt and jacket, and his usual spray of whiskers freshly shaved, it wasn’t surprising that her heart double thumped.
But he looked grave, his frowning gaze to the ground, his posture holding a weary droop, like what he’d just experienced had snuffed the hope from him. Should she bother him? Maybe he’d prefer to be alone. That’d probably be best. And if she stayed quiet, he’d likely not see her …
“Jackson,” she called, like her mouth was unattached to her brain.
His gaze lifted to meet hers and he stopped, then seemed to waver. For a dreadful second, she thought he might hurry away. Then he seemed to make up his mind and draw closer, pushing his grim face into a smile. “Hey, Lexi.”
“Hi.” She smiled. The way he looked at her, all serious and deep, seemed to steal sense from her brain. Quick, think of more conversation. “You’re looking rather dashing.” She winced. Dashing? Seriously? Maybe theDownton Abbeyvibes from earlier had got stuck into her brain.
His lips curled up a little more. “That’s me. Dashing from here to there.”
“Busy, busy, busy, huh?”
“You know it.”
Actually she didn’t know it. Apart from cleaning and cooking at the college, her days stretched rather too long. Long enough to chase down rabbit trails about her future, and imaginings that probably weren’t helpful for her mental health. It was a far cry from those days when she’d never had enough time to squeeze in work, church commitments, friends, and the gym.
“Are you too busy for a coffee?” Where had those words come from? “I mean, it would be nice to catch up. But only if you have time.”
He studied her a moment, glanced at the pavement, then back up again. And the expression in his eyes—something like bleakness—suggested she not let him go until she knew for sure that he was okay.
“Please?”
She’d never begged a man before. Not to have coffee with her anyway. But a weird kind of stubbornness wouldn’t let go, probably that same stubbornness that insisted she would not die, even as blood had spilled around the hands clutched at her throat.
“Sure,” he finally said. “I don’t know how much time I have, but coffee sounds great.”
* * *
Sippinga latte in the diner where everyone knew each other’s business when all he wanted to do was hide was not exactly his idea of fun. But when a beautiful woman stops a hurting man in the street and her pleading eyes practically force him to have coffee with her, well, what could a decent guy do but say yes?
Although now, sitting in the plastic booth next to the window for all the town to see, he’d give anything to be somewhere else. Even if there was nobody he’d rather be with.
He studied Lexi, her head bent as she tackled the last few bites of her peach pie. Her fluster at the many types of pie had lightened his anguish for a few moments at least, as she wrestled between trying the cherry, apple, huckleberry, and peach. “I mean, I’m always a sucker for a good apple pie, but I can’t remember the last time I had peach. And then, I feel like I should be having huckleberry as a kind of patriotic thing.” She’d tilted her head to one side. “What would you recommend?”
“You can always come back and try another some other time.”
“True.” The furrow between her eyes eased as she’d smiled up at Marlene. “Guess that means I’m having the peach.”
“Ice cream and cream?”
“Why not?” Lexi turned to him. “You sure you can’t be tempted?”
He’d shaken his head, knowing just how close to temptation he really was.
He was tempted to give up. Tempted to pack it all in. Tempted to rob a bank. Well, the last, not really. Not atall. But God felt far away, and the crushing weight of his problems was grinding him down.
She continued her chatter, telling him about some village shopping place nearby with all kinds of little stores. He half-listened, her conversation like a cool balm on the sting of disappointment after his encounter with Millie. What would he say to his brothers? His brothers, who’d likely insist Mom get seen by specialists, and he be forced to explain he couldn’t afford it?
