Ruth Herne - Mended Hearts

“Or I can ‘cc’ her a copy and spare you the time,” Hannah suggested.

“She’ll want to talk it out,” Jeff told her. “She’s very hands-on, as you can see.”

“Then I’ll forward them and you can proceed from there.”

She kept her tone cool. Crisp. Concise.

Just what he wanted, right?

Except spending time with her last evening had put him in mind of other things. But those thoughts were best buried.

She’d readopted her business manner and kept her distance, sparing him from looking into those bright blue eyes. The dimmer lights by the library door kept him from seeing the sprinkle of freckles, or noting the long lashes, their shadow a curve against her tanned cheek. Obviously she hadn’t read all the current warnings about skin and sunscreen, because her softly bronzed face and arms said she wasn’t afraid to be in the sun.

He gave a quick wave as he went through the door, deciding not to linger with uncomfortable goodbyes.

She’d email him, he’d email her, they’d push forward.

Perfect.

But it felt much less than that.

Dismissed.

Hannah watched him go and was tempted to throw something. Standing in a room full of books, her choices were numerous. But she couldn’t throw books. She loved books. Loved learning. Knowledge. Sharing that love with others, children and young adults.

At least she had loved it until circumstances blindsided her, stealing her livelihood, her heart and a share of her soul. Melancholy threatened, but she pushed it aside, determined to stay in the here and now.

She didn’t like being shrugged off by the electronics wizard as if she were some ordinary business partner.

Which she was.

Or some underling who depended on him for her livelihood.

Which she did. Kind of. Since his grandmother was head of the library council and approved her hiring three years back.

But the fact that he made her feel like that was aggravating. Exasperating. She shut off the lights of the tiny house, set the lock and headed for her car. Usually she walked from her apartment to the Jamison Farmers Free Library, but she’d known she’d be late tonight, probably tired, and rain was in the forecast, so she’d driven over. She’d get home, sit down, hammer out these notes, email them to Jeff and be done with things until the various committee members got back to her with their plans. Then she’d compile them into a semblance of order, send them on to Jeff and move to step two for next week’s meeting.

Easy.

She fumbled in her pocket for her set of keys and stopped, chagrined.

Not there.

She tried again, then groped for a nonexistent purse.

Nope, she’d left that home on purpose, wanting to be unencumbered.

No keys.

Either she left them inside …

Or she’d locked them in the car.

She went over to the car, pressed her nose to the glass and tried to scan the interior.

No luck. Darkness had fallen hours ago, the fall equinox behind them. The one lone dusk-to-dawn light was set near the library entrance, leaving this corner of the gravel lot in complete darkness.

Split. Splat. Split. Splat.

Fat raindrops began to pelt her head, her face, her arms. And of course she hadn’t brought anything along since she was driving back and forth. No sweater. No hoodie. No sweatshirt.

Grumbling, she tucked the important papers under her shirt to protect them, and started jogging for home, the thin manila edges cutting into soft skin with every running step.

She had a spare key at home, but that thought didn’t make her any drier, warmer or smarter at the moment. By the time she got home, fumbled her hidden key into the apartment lock and closed the door behind her, she was cold, soaked and fairly miserable, a combination that brought back too many memories.

Shoving aside mental images that had owned her for too long, she headed to the shower and let warm water ease the chill and the frustrations.

The images she left entirely up to God.

Jeff spotted Hannah as he cruised down McCallister Street the next afternoon; the pretty blond hair was a giveaway.

He pulled over, opened his window and called her name.

She turned, surprise lighting her face. The way his gut clenched on seeing her told him that instead of waning, the appeal was growing. Of course, the fact that he was showing up out of the blue on his lunch hour to thank her for the copious notes she’d sent him might have something to do with that.

Polite, he told himself.

Nice try, his conscience replied.

He jumped out of the car, rounded the hood and opened the passenger door for her. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride. It’s cooking out here today.”

She looked trapped but grateful. The midday sun was blazing hot, a late September anomaly. “Thanks.”

“You always walk?” he asked as he climbed in the driver’s side a moment later.

“Umm. No.”

He frowned, then nodded. “That’s right, I saw your car last night.”

“How did you know it was my car?” She tilted her head, her freckles darker in the bright light of the noon sun.

“Because it was the only vehicle there when I left last night?” He shot her a grin, angled down Whitmore and pulled into the library lot along the curve heading toward Route 19. “Sitting right where it’s sitting now. Car trouble?” he asked, brows bent, his look encompassing the car parked exactly where it had been fourteen hours before.

She sighed and made a face. “I locked my keys in it.”

“Last night?”

“Yes.”

“So you walked home? At ten o’clock?” He didn’t try to temper the concern edging his voice.

She turned more fully, surprised by his reaction. “My options were limited. Because it was ten o’clock.”

“You could have called me.” The suggestion made her sit back farther, a touch of awareness brightening her features. But right now he was too busy thinking about what could happen to a woman alone on country roads at that hour. “I was minutes from here. I could have swung back, picked you up and got you home safely.”

“Which was the outcome as you can see from my unscathed body.” She waved a hand toward herself. “And since you were decidedly cool last night, why on earth would I have called you for help?”

“Because …” He paused. “Because I want you safe,” he went on, meeting her gaze, letting his eyes say more than his words. “It was pouring rain before I got three blocks away. You had to be soaked.”

“Drenched.” She sighed, her face a mix of resignation with a touch of sorrow.

Why sorrow?

He had no idea, but a part of him longed to wipe it away, replace the look of anxiety with joy and youthful abandon. Although at thirty-five, youthful abandon had escaped him about twelve years ago, when his father’s ignominious death marked the end of a dark era.

But something about being around Hannah made him want to embrace that lost joy. That family camaraderie. Since that was impossible, he’d try to figure out what was going on here. Looking at her, it seemed fairly obvious, but was that emotion or hormones?

Both.

“So you walked home in the pouring rain, then sat down and typed up copious notes for my benefit?”

“I like to stay on top of things.” She shrugged as if it was no big deal.

Jeff had been in business long enough to know a good work ethic was key to success. Hannah’s drive and determination belied her fragmented lifestyle. She obviously embraced her privacy, a concept he respected. He climbed out of the car and circled the hood, meeting her as she emerged. “Thank you, Hannah.”

She glanced up, those blue eyes meeting his, a flash of awareness in her manner. She looked flustered again, only it wasn’t the insecure agitation he’d seen before. This implicit nervousness stemmed from him, their proximity, the look he offered that probably said too much.