Three Little Words. Carrie Alexander

tourist season, but early yet, so something should be available. There you go, Lucy. All checked out.” Tess handed over the books in a plastic “Great Summer Reading!” drawstring bag. “Will I see you on Monday, sweetie?”

      Lucy nodded shyly.

      “I’ve got to get back to work,” Evan said. He aimed a casual grin at Tess. “Thanks, Marian.” He nodded at Connor, fixing him with a serious stare, then walked out with his hand resting on his daughter’s thin shoulders.

      Connor took the look to mean: Don’t mess with Tess or I’ll cheerfully beat you into the ground like a fence post.

      He waited until the pair had cleared the building, then said, “Marian the Librarian, huh?”

      “The local theater group did The Music Man a while back. Evan’s just teasing.”

      “You’re dating him?”

      She paused, wary. “Evan has a daughter. How do you know he’s not married?”

      “Hmm. I did notice that he wears a wedding ring.”

      Tess nodded, her forehead creasing a little. Concern or dismay? Connor couldn’t be sure. “Ring or not, Evan’s single,” he went on. “Call me sexist, but he wouldn’t be leaving work in the middle of the day to look after his daughter if there was a wife in the picture.”

      Tess said softly, “He’s a widower.”

      “Tough break. But you didn’t answer my question. Are you dating him?”

      Her voice rose a notch to sharpness. “Why don’t you tell me, Quizmaster?”

      Connor weighed Evan’s familiarity and protectiveness against the easy departure. “You might have dated at some point, but not currently. Your relationship is more the platonic kind—brother, sister, friends.” A relationship compounded by a good dose of motherly longing, judging by Tess’s gentle way with the girl, but he left that unsaid. It was too personal.

      Yeah. Like her love life wasn’t?

      “You’re right again.” Tess stacked books briskly; he figured she didn’t like being pigeonholed even though she was a walking endorsement of the friendly, intelligent, proper-librarian stereotype.

      The thing was, he knew that everyone was unique beneath the surface. Each person has a story, and secret thoughts and dreams. Each person has justifications for who they are or what they’ve done with their lives. Part of his job as a true-crime writer was digging deeper to find what motives and meanings an ordinary appearance hid.

      There was a lot more to Tess Bucek, even if it was tightly bound, but he had no intention of making the what and why of her his business. All he needed to know was that she had a skill for teaching. He’d buy her time, for his grandfather’s sake. But, for your own sake, stay away from the inner her. Don’t delve deeper. Don’t even make friends.

      Tess was talking. “…small, spartan stone cottages. Run-down and not very comfortable, I’m afraid. They’re usually only booked by fishermen and hunters.”

      Connor nodded as if he’d followed. “Mmm.”

      “Maxine’s Cottages,” Tess explained to bring him back to speed. “The clientele is downscale, to be polite. You should try Bay House. It’s a bed-and-breakfast inn up on the hill. It’s undergoing renovation, but they’re still taking guests. If you tell Claire, the manager, I sent you, she might be able to fit you in. Several of their rooms have a view of the lighthouse, although if a rock-bottom price is more important than quality—” Tess’s gaze touched on his unshaven, rumpled appearance “—you might rather go to Maxine’s.”

      “Thanks,” Connor said to dismiss talk of accommodations. He supposed he’d have to take a room somewhere. The lighthouse didn’t appear to be habitable. He could camp on the grounds, maybe, if he wanted to spring for a tent and the accompanying gear. The isolation was appealing, but it was too long since he’d roughed it, Upper Peninsula style—which was only for the extremely hardy. At least for tonight, he wanted a real bed.

      “I mean, you are interested in the Gull Rock lighthouse, right? Or were the books strictly for your grandfather’s sake?”

      “Both, I guess.” Connor cleared his throat. “Seeing as how I own it.”

      A paperback mystery slid from Tess’s fingers and dropped onto the desktop, pages splayed. “Pardon me? You own the lighthouse?”

      “There was a public auction a year ago…”

      “Yes, I remember.”

      “I put in the high bid.”

      “But I heard—” Tess gave her head a shake, making chunks of her short, thick hair bounce in the sunlight, shining like a handful of new pennies. “The word around town was that a famous writer bought the place. Unfounded rumor, I suppose.” She tilted her head, lifted a shoulder. “That happens.”

      But she was staring at him now. Any minute she’d make the connection. Connor kept his face blank. “All I know is I’m the owner.”

      Fortunately, she veered to another subject. “Your grandfather must be pleased.”

      “He says I’m crazy, but, yeah, he’s damn pleased. I’m hoping to whip the lighthouse into acceptable shape and take him out there for a final visit.”

      “Ohhh.” Tess smiled fondly, looking at Connor as if he’d transformed from grungy stranger to Hallmark card.

      “I’ll sell it after he’s gone,” he said out of a certain perversity, denying the reasons he’d bought the lighthouse just to prove how cold he could be. He didn’t need Tess to start thinking he was an okay guy when really he was a hard-hearted son of a bitch who’d barter grief for a good story. “The thing’s a white elephant. It was a crazy idea to bid on it in the first place.”

      Although Tess’s eyes had narrowed, she wasn’t about to let him knock her down so easily. Instead, she smiled at his grouchiness, unimpressed and unintimidated. His estimation of her went up another notch.

      “It’s a local landmark,” she said. “You could donate it to the town. The historical society would be absolutely thrilled to take over management and develop the site as a museum.”

      “Do I look like a philanthropist?”

      Her gaze traced over him. Not with disinterest, if the glint in her eyes meant anything. Her lips pursed. “You don’t want to know what I think you look like.”

      He shrugged. “That bad?”

      “Nothing a shave and a change couldn’t cure.”

      “I’ll be more presentable next time you see me.”

      She blinked, catching herself staring. He smiled, liking—despite himself—the way she became ruffled, running a hand through her hair, stacking and restacking the books before her. Her fingers pattered nervously over the desktop.

      “When can I take you to visit Sonny?” he asked. “He’s at Three Pines.”

      “I, um, I’ll have to—”

      “The sooner the better.”

      She sighed. Squinted one eye at the clock near the desk. “This evening? I’m off work at six. Would seven-thirty be okay?”

      “How about six-thirty? We’ll have to drive to the nursing home in Ishpeming, and Sonny conks out pretty early. It’ll be a very short visit.”

      “That barely gives me time to wash and change. I suppose I could grab a sandwich on the go.”

      “If your stomach can wait, I’ll take you to dinner afterward.” The words were out of Connor’s mouth before he could censor them. Damn. “Nothing personal, of course. Just a business dinner. We’ll discuss how to proceed with Sonny’s lessons.” Make that how to persuade Sonny to accept