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She swallowed, tried to stamp out the tidal wave of nausea that threatened to further ruin her day.
A cool breeze blasted her skin as the costume opened up and was lifted off her sticky body. She blinked against the bright afternoon sunshine.
Focus. Focus. Find an anchor point. “I don’t feel so well,” she whispered, still trying to get her eyes to open in the light. She blinked again, and the world came into hazy focus. Joyce stood, holding the costume. Next to her, boots. Jeans. A cowboy hat?
No one in Deep Haven wore a cowboy hat.
Her brain tried to make sense of the apparition—a larger-than-life champion. Right from the pages of a Louis L’Amour novel or the television showHeartland.
He had a strong, clean-shaven jawline, and a dark-blond wisp of hair strayed from his hat brim. Green eyes. And the arms that had rescued her? Tan with a generous curve of muscle under the cuffs of his T-shirt sleeves.
And she was standing there in bright blue tights and shorts, her ratty T-shirt, dark with sweat, clinging to her. More beads of sweat dripped off her nose. She scrubbed her palms across her eyes.
She had to be hallucinating.
“Beth?” Joyce’s voice, closer now, tried to reach through the fading dream to her.
She shook her head, fighting for clarity.
The man. Those green eyes met hers. “Beth?”
Oddly familiar. The eyes…the voice… A jab of awareness pierced her.
Everything dimmed to black. Anyone, anyone buthim. Not Grayson Alexander Fox. She was pretty sure they called it a teenage crush because he’d done just that. Crushed her heart.
She groaned.
Not that he knew anything about annihilating her tender heart the night of the high-school pit party.
He sucked in a breath. “You’re bleeding.” He drew her close.
She fought the darkness. “No—wait.” She rubbed her head with her hand, drew it away, red. Sticky. “It’s not—it’s from Vivien.”
Joyce gasped. “Vivien did that?”
“No—it’s not—” Beth closed her eyes. “I’m fine. Please.” She tried to pull away, stumbled.
“You’re not fine.” Grayson held her firm.
“How did Vivien do that?” Joyce asked again, her voice somewhere behind them.
“No,” Beth squeaked. “It’s stage blood.” She wiped her reddened palm on her shirt. “I didn’t get hurt.”
Joyce squeezed into Beth’s line of sight. “I called for an ambulance.” She hoisted the costume and towed it across the grass back to the library.
“I’m fine.” She wriggled from Grayson. “I don’t need your help.” The flush to her face wasn’t only from the heat.
“What were you doing in that ridiculous costume?” Grayson gestured toward Joyce and the abominable book carcass she was toting away.
“Oh, you know, just going for a Friday afternoon jaunt.”
He pressed his lips together. “You’re going to be like that?”
“I’m not like anything, Grayson.” She swiped the sweat from her eyes and bobbled.
His hand shot out to steady her.
Fine. She’d play nice-ish. “Volunteering for the summer library program.”
