Brambleberry House. RaeAnne Thayne

looked flustered, her cheeks slightly pink. “Um, no. Those are my things. They go in my bedroom, the big one overlooking the ocean.”

      He headed in the direction she pointed, noting again no sign of a Mr. Blair. On some instinctive level, he had subconsciously picked up the fact that she wore no wedding ring when he had seen her the other day and she had spoken only of herself and her children needing an apartment. Was she widowed, divorced, or never married?

      He only wondered out of mild curiosity about the road she might have traveled in the years since he had seen her. Or at least that’s what he told himself.

      In her bedroom, he found stacks of boxes, some of them open and overflowing with books. The queen-size bed was already made up with a cozy-looking comforter in soft blue tones, with piles of pillows against the headboard.

      An image flashed in his head of her tousled and welcoming, her auburn hair spread out on those pillows and a soft, aroused smile teasing the edges of those lovely features.

      He dropped the boxes so abruptly he barely missed his toe.

      Whoa. Where the hell did that come from?

      He had no business thinking about her at all, forget about in some kind of sultry, welcoming pose.

      When he returned to the living room, her cheeks were still flushed and she didn’t meet his gaze, as if she were embarrassed about something. It was a damn good thing she couldn’t know the inappropriate direction of his thoughts.

      “I’m sorry.” She fidgeted with a stack of books in her hand. “I probably sounded terribly ungracious when you first came in. I just didn’t expect you to show up and start hauling my boxes inside.”

      “No problem.”

      He started to head toward the door, but she apparently wasn’t content with his short response. “Why, again, are you helping me move in?”

      He shrugged. What did it matter? He was here, wasn’t he? Did they really have to analyze the reasons why? “I was heading home after a job south of here and saw your U-Haul out front. I figured you could use a hand.”

      “How...neighborly of you.”

      “Around here we look out for each other.” It was nothing less than the truth.

      “I remember.” She smiled a little. “That’s one of the reasons I wanted to come back to Cannon Beach. I remembered that sense of community with great affection.”

      She set the stack of books down on the coffee table, then turned a searching gaze toward him. “Forgive me, Will, but...for some reason I had the impression you weren’t exactly overjoyed to see me the other day.”

      And he thought he’d been so careful at hiding his reaction. He shifted his weight, not sure how to answer. Any apology would only lead to explanations he was eager to avoid at all costs.

      “You took me by surprise, that’s all,” he finally said.

      “A mysterious stranger emerging from your distant past?”

      “Something like that. Sixteen seems like a long, long time ago.”

      She nodded solemnly but said nothing. After an awkward moment, he headed for the door again.

      “Anyway, I’m sorry if I seemed less than welcoming.” It needed to be said, he decided. Apparently, she was going to be his neighbor and he disliked the idea of this uneasiness around her continuing. That didn’t make the words any easier to get out. “You caught me at a bad moment, that’s all. But I’m sorry if I gave you the impression I didn’t want you here. It was nothing personal.”

      “I must say, that’s a relief to hear.”

      She smiled, warm and sincere, and for just an instant he was blinded by it, remembering the surge of his blood every time he had been anywhere close to her that last summer.

      Before he could make his brain work again, Sage walked up carrying one bulky box.

      “What do you have in these, for Pete’s sake? Did you pack along every brick from your old place?”

      Julia laughed, a light, happy sound that stirred the hair on the back of his neck.

      “Not bricks, but close, I’m afraid. Books. I left a lot in storage back in Boise but I couldn’t bear to leave them all behind.”

      So that hadn’t changed about her. When she was a kid, she always seemed to have her nose in a book. He and her brother used to tease her unmercifully about being a bookworm.

      That last summer, he had been relentless in his efforts to drag her attention away from whatever book she was reading so she would finally notice him....

      He dragged his mind away from the past and the dumb, self-absorbed jerk he’d been. He didn’t want to remember those times. What was the damn point? That stupid, eager, infatuated kid was gone, buried under the weight of the years and pain that had piled up since then.

      Instead, he left Sage and Julia to talk about books and headed back down the sweeping Brambleberry House stairs. On the way, he passed Anna heading back up, carrying a suitcase in each hand. He tried to take them from her but she shook him off.

      “I’ve got these. There are some bulkier things in the U-Haul you could bring up, though.”

      “Sure,” he answered.

      In the entryway on the ground floor, he heard music coming from inside Anna’s apartment. Through the open doorway, he caught a glimpse of her television set where a Disney DVD was just starting up.

      Julia’s twins must have finished playing and come inside. He spotted Julia’s boy on the floor in front of the TV, his arm slung across Conan’s back. Both of them sensed Will’s presence and looked up. He started to greet them but the boy put a finger to his mouth and pointed to Abigail’s favorite armchair.

      Will followed his gaze and found the girl—Maddie—curled up there, fast asleep.

      She looked small and fragile, with her too-pale skin and thin wrists. There was something going on with her, but he was pretty sure he was better off not knowing.

      He waved to the boy, then headed down the porch steps to the waiting U-Haul.

      It was nearly empty now except for perhaps a half-dozen more boxes, a finely crafted Mission-style rocking chair and something way in the back, a bulky-looking item wrapped in an old blanket that had been secured with twine.

      He went for the rocking chair first. Might as well get the tough stuff out of the way. It was harder to carry than he expected—wide and solid, made of solid oak—but more awkward than really heavy.

      He made it without any trouble up the porch steps and was trying to squeeze it through the narrow front door without bunging up the doorframe moldings when Sage came down the stairs.

      “Okay, Superman. Let me help you with that.”

      “I can handle it.”

      “Only because of your freakish strength, maybe.”

      He felt his mouth quirk. Sage always managed to remind him he still had the ability to smile.

      “I had my can of spinach just an hour ago so I think I’ve got this covered. There are a few more boxes in the U-Haul. Those ought to keep you busy and out of trouble.”

      She stuck her tongue out at him and he smiled at the childish gesture, with a sudden, profound gratitude for the friendship of those few people around him who had sustained him through the wrenching pain of the last two years.

      “Which is it? Are you Popeye or Superman?”

      “Take your pick.”

      “Or just a stubborn male, like the rest of your gender?” She lifted the front end of the chair. “Even Popeye and Superman need help once in awhile. Besides, we wouldn’t want you to throw your back out. Then how would all our work get done