Beach House No. 9. Christie Ridgway

all these years. “Did our friendly property manager drop off your monthly allotment of Metamucil today? Followed by a big dose of gossip?”

      “Gossip or not, don’t you wonder what happened to Tess’s marriage?”

      Private flopped onto his back on the grass beside Griffin, which required him to perform the obligatory belly rub. “Yeah, I…” he started, then heard himself. “No, I do not wonder what happened. It’s none of my business. That’s between her and her husband, Deadly Dull David, which right there probably says it all.”

      “I met him at their wedding reception. He seemed very nice,” the old scold replied.

      “Gage came up with the name,” Griffin mumbled. “You know Gage, he can’t imagine anyone enjoying the suburban nine-to-five.”

      “People change. Grow up. Or down, as the case may be, like when they make their own sister someone else’s problem.”

      Griffin threw up his hands. “Jane again! Why do you keep bringing her up?”

      “I’m not the one keeping her around indefinitely. She’s a very pretty young woman. Is that why you don’t cut her loose?”

      Griffin didn’t need to explain himself. And not just because the explanation wouldn’t put him in a very good light. On second thought, maybe if he disgusted his elderly neighbor he’d go home. “Think about it, old man. If I kicked Jane out of the cove, who would keep my sister out of my hair? This way, Jane is the gatekeeper. I tell her I’m working and she makes sure Tess and her tribe keep their distance.”

      And it also meant he needn’t give his agent some excuse about why he’d gotten rid of her. Frank might legitimately object to that, since he was the one who’d engaged her services in the first place.

      “You’ve kept your distance from Tess and her kids since you returned from overseas,” Monroe pressed. “She told Skye you’ve stayed away from them for months.”

      “And Skye just had to go running to you with the news,” he said darkly. But he couldn’t deny the accusation. He looked down at his feet and then muttered the first thing that came into his head. “Russ smells like Afghanistan.”

      “Eh?”

      “The small one is Russ. The one still in diapers. He smells like Afghanistan, okay?” As stupid as it sounded, it was true. “It’s the baby wipes—you know those wet cloths people use to wipe a kid’s ass? That’s what we had between our too-seldom encounters with running water.” Upon his return to California, the first time he’d gotten close enough to get a whiff of his youngest nephew, he’d left Tess’s house and never been back. Being at her home, breathing in that smell, made it nauseatingly easy for him to imagine Russ—and his siblings—too soon grown. Too soon experiencing that intoxicating cocktail of danger and adrenaline that he’d sucked down with an eagerness that had both ashamed and enticed him. Those were thoughts he didn’t want in his head.

      There was a moment’s silence, and he was sure he’d shut the old guy up, but then his neighbor waved a hand. “In World War Two, I once went seventy-two days without washing up. You ever get lice in your beard? Now, that’s deprivation.”

      Annoyed by his dismissive tone, Griffin crossed his arms over his chest. “Let me call the waa-ambulance, old man. You know what was in the best care packages from home? Flea collars. Flea collars for dogs. We fought over ’em to wear around our necks and wind around our ankles.”

      Monroe’s eyes narrowed under his beetled brows. “In my war, our meals came with fleas and we were glad for the extra protein.”

      “Yeah?” Griffin said, scornful. “Well, I can beat that because—”

      From the direction of No. 9’s back door came the sound of a throat clearing. “Pardon me for interrupting this illuminating pissing contest,” Jane said.

      The crank ignored her intrusion. “I have two words for you, Griffin: trench foot.”

      “I…” He wouldn’t have let the other man have the last word, except he glanced over and was distracted by the sight of her. She was wearing rhinestone-studded sandals, jeans cut off at the knees and a loose sleeveless top, the hem of which fluttered in the breeze. The wind caught her wavy hair too, setting the sandy tendrils dancing around her face. “You’re sunburned,” he said. Pink color splashed her nose, cheeks, the tops of her shoulders. Her mouth looked redder too.

      That mouth. Every time he looked at the damn thing he got a jolt.

      It pursed at him now, signaling she was in a mood. “That’s what happens when I spend the day entertaining kids on the beach. Make that two days.”

      He knew he should feel both guilt and gratitude. But instead he was riveted by the duffel bag in her hand and the soft-sided laptop case that was slung across her chest. She was leaving. From the moment she’d first arrived on the scene that had been his goal—getting rid of her. So this outcome shouldn’t surprise him. And Tess or no Tess, it shouldn’t bother him in the least either.

      He remembered the delicate frame of those shoulders under his hands. Their telltale tremor. Her rosebud mouth parting under his lips in surprise. Her taste heating him up. All that was leaving the cove.

      Good. He didn’t need the complication…didn’t want the connection.

      Pinning him with her gaze, she dropped the duffel and placed her hand on her hip. “I should have made something clear two days ago.”

      “Made what clear?” Her skin had been silky under his hands. That he couldn’t forget.

      “I’m not a babysitter. Nor am I an ‘assistant,’ in the way you spoke of me to your sister,” she said.

      Now guilt did manage to give him a poke. “You said you’d do anything I needed,” he reminded her, hating his defensive tone.

      She just stared at him, her clear eyes managing to send out a burn.

      Oh, yeah, in a mood. He shuffled his feet, shoved his hands into his pockets, tried not to think how cute she looked with that pink nose and silvery glare. She’d kill him if he said that now.

      Now that she was leaving.

      He took a breath. “Hey, I am sorry about that, Jane. I was an ass.” She threw him a Gee, that wasn’t so bad sort of look. “I understand you’re a professional.”

      “Thank you.”

      He thought he could add even more to that, now that she was saying her goodbyes. “As a matter of fact, I picked up the phone when Frank called this morning. He was singing your praises.”

      “That’s nice to hear. We go back a ways.”

      “Yeah. Well, I’m sure he’s not wrong.”

      A smile bloomed on her face. “So, an actual vote of confidence from you, chili-dog? Even better.”

      He’d miss being chili-dog, just a little. The unexpected pang of sentiment convinced him to give her a bit more. “Frank is sending some packages. I said I’d accept them. A laptop, printer, other supplies. I’m actually planning to set up an office.” Not that he was going to do anything inside it, but he figured Jane would take the information as the friendly farewell gift it was. A sign of truce between two former combatants.

      Except she wasn’t looking at him with gratification. “You don’t have a laptop here? No computer whatsoever?”

      “Uh…”

      She was glaring again. “I thought Ted was wrong, you know. I thought you must have something to write on over here or else you wouldn’t have told your sister you needed privacy two days ago because you’d be working.”

      Oh, shit.

      “While you were over here basking in slothful solitude, I was out there—” she jerked a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the sand “—for two solid