Kaine speed-walked from the library as if at any moment the apparition of the one who had written the message would appear. She narrowed her eyes at the broad, winding staircase in the entry. She could almost envision the pre-Civil War-era owners in their silks and cravats, but her vision disintegrated as she noticed half the banister was tilting to the left, as if it were about ready to give up its ghost and die. She was going to have to start a to-do list.
Thumbing to contacts on her iPhone, Kaine selected to FaceTime Leah. Her sister was the queen of organization with her colored pens, notecards, planners, and neon Post-it notes. Unlike her own bad habit of jumbling must-haves, to-dos, and should-haves in her mind. Maybe Leah could help Kaine find a reference point at which to begin—or at least pick a color scheme for her list.
The data connection was sketchy. Leah’s face appeared on screen, albeit pixelated and delayed.
“Wha-for the-wallpaper-pretty.” Leah’s sentence was so broken, Kaine tapped the End button on the video-chat. So the house sat in the black hole of LTE wireless activity as well, huh?
Figures.
Kaine sagged against the wall. Her lack of confidence was synonymous with being alone. She was never good at silence.
Her phone pinged.
Text message from Leah. No data?
Nope, Kaine texted back.
Phooey. Call. Or get Wi-Fi stat. I need to see this place.
Wi-Fi was probably not going to happen here in the boonies. And yes, Leah did need to see this place so she could help Kaine file a complaint on this revered agent who was so honest he would never sell a ramshackle house to a grief-stricken widow.
The sarcasm oozed into Kaine’s thoughts like a poison. She would call Leah. But not now. She would say something she’d regret, and in the end it wasn’t Leah’s fault that Kaine had been this stupid. The house closed in around her like a coffin. Danny would have been on his tablet right now, tapping out a to-do list for renovations in Evernote. Kaine was out of her depth . . . and out of her mind.
Footsteps on the front porch jerked her attention from her melancholy. She was startled at the outline of a man in the doorway. For the split second between the confirmation that her stalker from San Diego really had followed her here and the moment she recognized Artsy-Probably-Lives-With-Mom man from the gas station, Kaine realized how truly susceptible to danger she was.
This was not what she’d wanted from Foster Hill House. She had wanted to regain a desire to live. Instead, death continued to chase her.
Chapter 6
Why are you here?” Kaine hoped the apology showed as much on her face as she felt it in her heart. Her fear added an element of defensiveness the man from the gas station didn’t deserve. Or did he? Kaine wished for a front door. But then, if this guy was a threat, he’d probably just kick it in and have his way with her. Yes. She needed that dog. A vicious guard dog. As well as a case to clip her can of pepper spray to her jeans and Captain America for a bodyguard. Or maybe the Green Arrow. Yes, definitely Oliver Queen.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Good-looking artsy boy shrugged and extended his hand slowly in greeting. “After almost running you over at the station.”
He cast a cursory glance into the house over her shoulder. Kaine reached out and took his hand. Firm handshake. Show you’re confident, even when you’re not. Eye contact. All the years of coaching and counseling battered women entered her mind. Now she was coaching herself.
“It’s not like I was critically injured.” She couldn’t refrain from sarcasm. It was still running rampant through her.
“I know,” the man admitted with a sheepish shrug. His blue flannel shirt gave him a casual air. Instinct told Kaine he posed no threat. Logic told Kaine she’d be dumb if she trusted her instinct—look where it’d gotten her so far.
“Joy sent me,” he continued. “She was worried about the new owner of Foster Hill House.”
“Ahh.” Kaine offered up a hesitant smile.
“Grant Jesse.” He still held her hand. So this was the man who sometimes watched Joy’s daughter.
“Kaine. Prescott.” She yanked her hand back when she realized she had been squeezing his far longer than a casual greeting. “Kaine Prescott,” she repeated.
“Yep. Got that.”
“Joy sent you?” Kaine tried to wrap her mind around the fact the station attendant was concerned about her. But, maybe the older woman felt she owed Kaine in exchange for the daffodils?
“When Joy calls, I answer.” Lopsided grin warmed hazel eyes. Gracious. He reminded Kaine of some actor she’d seen in a TV show. One who married the heroine, and then turned into an ogre, and then morphed back into a hero. Unpredictable at best.
“Some place you got here.”
Well, he’s a good fibber. The house was a wreck, and Grant Jesse knew it.
Kaine offered a plastic laugh. “Yeahhhhh. It’s a castle.”
“You’re not really going to stay here?”
Kaine eyed him. Why did he want to know? “I—sure. Yes.” She wasn’t really, but he didn’t need to know that. Kaine tugged at the bottom of her sweater and crossed her arms in front of her. It was the third time she had done that.
“There’s a nice mo—”
“Motel,” Kaine interrupted with an edgy laugh. “Yeah. I know. Joy told me.”
“Ahh.” Grant moved back a few steps as if he read her nerves. He searched her face, and a small, knowing tilt to his mouth told her he had drawn some sort of conclusion. Obviously the correct one, she determined, when he backed away from the doorway to stand farther out on the porch. Giving her space. Smart man. But he was lucky his foot didn’t go through the floorboards.
“You might want to take Joy up on the offer of that motel.” Grant tipped his head back to look up at the dilapidated house. Kaine caught a whiff of deodorant or cologne, she wasn’t sure which. It was crisp, masculine, and reminded her of the marina in San Diego.
She followed him onto the porch. “I’m fine, thank you. And thank Joy as well, please. I’ve camped before, and this place isn’t so bad.” Let him believe she was fearless instead of planning on cowering under the covers at the motel—with her can of pepper spray. Where had she set it, anyway? This was why she needed organizer Leah around.
Grant’s smile broadened and created crinkles in the corners of his eyes. Kaine could tell he knew she wasn’t being honest. He shifted, and his heel caught a nail sticking up from the porch floorboard.
“You have supplies, then? Sleeping bag, food, camp stove?”
Darn. He was calling her bluff. Kaine pursed her lips and matched his cross-armed stance.
“Porta Potty?” Grant tested her sense of humor.
Very funny. “Actually, the plumbing here works okay. I’ll be fine. Thanks.” Kaine bit the inside of her lip. The guy made her want to smile at the same time she narrowed her eyes, trying to read him.
Grant bent and yanked on the offending nail. It came out with a minor tug. Old, rusted, worthless. He handed it to Kaine. She reached for it, and as her fingers closed around it, Grant kept hold of his end, forcing her to look at him.
“Going to be one heck of a house to restore yourself.”
Kaine raised an eyebrow. “I like a challenge.”
Grant released the nail. “So do I.”