Page 38 of Bracing The Storm

“Thanks.” I can barely squeeze the word past my lips but it doesn’t matter. He’s already turned his back on me and is heading down the street, leaving me staring at the way he seems to carry himself with confidence and dignity.

If it weren’t for all my problems I would have packed my bags and left right from the start, renouncing Ms. Walsh’s generous inheritance. But I can’t do that. Not when there’s more than just my future at stake. My career is destroyed, An investigation is pending. My situation seems hopeless. I need to set things straight, and I can only do that if I keep my heart out of the entire situation.

Chapter Twelve

An hour later, I return to the pickup truck and find Patrick already sat behind the steering wheel. There’s a frown line creasing his forehead now and the fragile skin under his eyes shows tiny lines that weren’t there before. His mood doesn’t seem to have improved.

I jump onto the passenger seat and close the door as I say, “Thanks for waiting. Everything okay down at the pub?”

“You got everything you needed?” He’s dodging my question with a question of his own. I know to mind my own business when required so I shrug.

“Everything I needed? Yes. Everything I wanted? You probably know the answer to that.”

His lips quirk up. At least I got a smile out of him.

“A ferry comes once a week. If you put in a request with James”—he points behind him at the fishmonger’s—“you can get pretty much everything from one of the bigger cities without ever having to venture there. I can wait another few minutes if you want.” He places his hands on the steering wheel and turns to face me, waiting for my answer.

I hesitate, considering his offer.

There’s a lot of things I didn’t think of packing back home, like more comfortable shoes so my poor feet can survive mounting that hill on my way back from work. Or the kind of personal stuff that I’d rather not buy from the fishmonger’s while James, the owner, is literally breathing down my neck.

True story.

During the short time I spent in there, he kept watching me like a hawk. Apparently he couldn’t decide whether I was a species from another planet or there to rob the fish market.

There’s no way I’d go back in there for the second time today.

“What is it, princess?” Patrick asks. “We haven’t got all day.”

I grimace. “I think I’ll pass for now. I really don’t want to go back in there.”

His brows shoot up, amused. “The smell too much for you?”

“If only it were the smell.” I clear my throat and wave my hand at his questioning look. “Let’s just say while James is probably a nice guy, he doesn’t seem very fond of strangers and his customer service sucks.”

“Stalked you all the way through the store, huh? Don’t take it personally. He does that to everyone he hasn’t seen in a week.” He hesitates for a moment. “Are you sure? You can still change your mind. I’ll come in with you if you want. Distract him for you so you can browse.”

I wave my hand again. “No. Just drive. Home, please.”

It’s only when his eyes narrow a little that I realize I’ve just put my big foot in my mouth again. The estate isn’t my home; it was his. It would still be his if his mother hadn’t left it to me.

I shift in my seat, uncomfortable under his scrutinizing gaze, unsure how to rectify my mistake.

“Home it is then.” Patrick puts the truck into gear and speeds off. His attention stays focused on the non-existent traffic like we’re driving through Manhattan in the middle of rush hour. Ibreathe a sigh of relief, eager to put this little awkward episode behind me.

During the brief drive, I’m acutely aware of his presence, even more so with the unnatural silence looming over us. The truck finally stops on the driveway, a few feet from the entrance to the house. Patrick’s staring ahead, pretending to be captivated by the shrubs and whatnot, but I can sense his hesitation.

Well, no need to prolong the torture for either of us.

My hand flies to the door handle while my mind goes through a selection of possible things to say.

Thank you. As much as I want to keep things civilized I’m not sure this is working.

Let’s not do this again. Ever.

It’s not you, it’s me. Okay, maybe it is you a little.

All viable options. Nothing arbitrary. Nothing personal or offensive at all.

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