Protector's Honor. Kit Wilkinson

      Rory felt her stiffen beside him. “It’s just a manner of speaking,” he explained, wondering why the reference made her so defensive. Many people would call a lot less than dinner at the town’s fanciest restaurant a date.

      In the boutique, Tabitha selected a few garments and a pair of flip-flops, then insisted on hobbling up the stairs alone. A half hour later, she returned wearing a cream-colored blouse and a long flowered skirt. Her dark brown hair, still damp, promised long, twisting curls and tumbled softly around her face and over her shoulders.

      Rory drank in her beauty, then hurried to help her down the last few steps. “You look lovely.”

      “Thank you.” She pushed back her hair then took his arm. “I wish I felt lovely.”

      “You’re just tired.”

      “Yes, I am,” she agreed. “I’m sure you are, too.”

      “Not really. Just anxious to get a shower.”

      Rory helped Tabitha out of the inn and across the lawn to his truck. “Gram’s at the cabin. She can keep you company while I change.”

      Tabitha bit her lower lip. “Do you mind if we not talk about what happened today?”

      “Sure,” Rory said, giving her a lift into the cab of the truck. They both reached for the safety belt. His hand engulfed hers over the small buckle. Her skin felt warm and smooth under his rough hands.

      “I got it,” she said, lifting her eyes to his. Her fingers tensed under his.

      Rory ignored her stiffness. Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he lifted the belt across her lap and secured it. As he leaned over the seat, the aroma of vanilla filled his senses. His eyes drifted to her soft lips. He swallowed hard and retreated, closing the passenger door with care.

      Wow.

      Tabitha remained silent as he cranked up the engine and headed down the mountain.

      “I’m sorry I grilled you earlier. I get carried away with the cop thing sometimes. And you kind of freaked me out when you ran after your car like that.”

      “I kind of freaked myself out. It’s been a bad day. I’m sorry I cried all over your shoulder.”

      “Not at all. I hear that’s what they’re for.”

      Her lips twitched upward but still no smile.

      Rory searched for something to say, but Terri was right—he was completely out of practice conversing with the opposite sex. “I hope you’re not upset about me dragging you to dinner.”

      “No. I’m not. I just can’t understand why my brother won’t answer his phone. I tried him again from the room and still no answer.”

      “Did you talk to his wife?”

      “No. But I spoke with his dental partner. He answered the weekend emergency line.”

      “Does his partner know where he is?”

      “Not exactly.” She shook her head. “He just said that Max and Karin are having a romantic getaway and that he’d been instructed not to call them. Must have been last second or my brother would have told me.”

      Rory could see the disappointment in her face and frowned. He didn’t want this to be an uncomfortable evening full of the day’s fear and bad memories. “You know, I think I’m a little jealous of Max.”

      She gave him a strange look.

      “I don’t have any siblings,” he explained. And as the simple statement came out, Rory realized how deeply he felt it. Especially now with his father gone.

      “I’m lucky. I have a great family.” She smiled.

      The brightness of her expression lifted his own spirits. “So it was just the four of you, until your brother married?”

      “Yes. My dad’s a professor of medieval studies. He travels to Europe every summer for research. Every fourth year, he stays abroad somewhere as a visiting professor. He’s at Exeter this year. It’s one of the reasons Max and I got to be so close. Every summer we just had each other.”

      “Sounds interesting. Living abroad.”

      “It was a nice way to grow up.”

      “What does your mom do?”

      “Mostly keep my dad’s head on straight.” She turned toward him. “What does yours do?”

      Rory let out a sigh. “I never knew my mom. She left when I was young.”

      Tabitha frowned. “I’m sorry. She must be somewhere regretting that. She missed out on a lot.”

      Rory, expecting pity, chuckled at her response. “That’s exactly what my grandmother says. Just between you and me, I don’t think Gram liked my mother too much. Says I was the only thing she ever did right.”

      “But your dad loved her?”

      “Oh, yeah. I think until his last breath he expected her to come back. I hated that he died like that.”

      “Like what? Hopeful?”

      “Is that hope or just a waste?”

      “Your dad didn’t think his hope was a waste.”

      “She didn’t come back.” Rory could hear his own bitterness.

      “Doesn’t mean she didn’t love him…and you.”

      What else could it mean?

      As they pulled in front of his cabin, Rory felt a lump forming in his throat. He still found himself expecting James Farrell to be inside when he entered. His stomach churned as he turned into the gravel drive. He parked the truck and walked around to help Tabitha from the cab.

      She smiled wide as he opened the door. “Is this your grandmother’s home? It’s beautiful.”

      Rory felt his lips curl upward. “Actually, it’s mine. My dad and I built it.”

      Tabitha’s face seemed to light up as she scanned over the property. “It’s gorgeous. Look at that view. It’s better than the inn.” She stepped out of the truck, occupied with the panorama of mountains. Clumsily, she landed on her bad ankle and fell into him. Rory encircled his arms about her and held her up.

      She blushed. He noticed that, for the first time, her body wasn’t rigid against him.

      Rory looked into her eyes. An awkward smile covered her expression. Her long brown curls blew with the soft breeze and danced around her face. Rory ached to run his hands through them.

      “I promise to pay more attention,” she vowed. “I can’t keep falling all over you.”

      Had that been his cue to release her? He found himself not able to. He liked the connection—the feeling that she belonged there. At his cabin. In his arms.

      She pulled away, her expression dazed. Rory turned her to the front porch. “Come on. Let’s meet Gram. You must be the only person in North Carolina who doesn’t know her.”

      “Shame on you, Rory. You didn’t tell me you were bringing a guest to dinner.” In designer jeans and a green silk blouse, Gram stood at the door of the cabin with one hand on her hip and the other pointed at her grandson. Her short gray hair bounced with each syllable. A welcoming smile defied her authoritative stance and scolding words.

      Rory lowered Gram’s finger then leaned in and kissed the top of her head. “Gram, this is Tabitha Beaumont. I met her at the triathlon today. She’s coming to dinner with us.”

      The older woman took a step forward and extended a hand. “Hello, dear. I’m Lilly. Please come in.”

      “Nice to meet you.” Tabitha shook the tall, thin-framed woman’s hand, noting her eyes possessed the