Page 83 of A Beach House Beginning

She did her best to push away the unwelcome reaction. “I’ve been working all day, but my mother says she’s been tired but happy.”

“Do you think riding helped her?”

“I don’t know. Her strength and her balance both seemed better last night when we were doing her exercises.”

He smiled, genuine pleasure in the midnight blue of his eyes. “Does that mean you’ll be taking her back to the therapy center?”

“At this point, I’m willing to try anything that works. If that means I have to swallow my fear, I guess I’ll do it.”

The outside door chimed before he could answer. She thought it was Mrs. Salazar leaving with the groceries until she heard a gruff male voice she didn’t recognize talking to Michelle.

“I got a truck full of canned goods to deliver. I rang the bell in the back by the stockroom about a half dozen times, but nobody answered.”

This time Christa wasn’t successful at hiding her groan. Just her luck. Of course the unexpected delivery would arrive this afternoon, the one day when her usually dependable stocker had gone home sick with a cold at lunchtime.

“Excuse me,” she said to Jace. “I need to deal with this.”

She hurried to the front of the store.

“Hi. I’m the manager on duty. We’re shorthanded, but I’ll meet you out back to help unload.”

“You know I can’t unload any of it, much as I’d like to help you. It’s company policy. I can only drive up to your bay.”

She sighed. “I know. I hope you’re not in a big hurry. Our forklift is acting up today.”

He shrugged. “You’re my last load of the day. I got time.”

If only she could say the same. She thought of the paperwork that would be left undone at her desk and how she would have to take it home with her to finish after she worked through Hope’s extensive bedtime routine.

She headed toward the door of the stockroom and almost reached it before she realized Jace was following close on her heels.

“Uh, when you’re ready, Michelle can ring you up out front.”

“Fine,” he answered genially even as he continued to follow her.

She stopped, her hand on the swinging door of the stockroom, painfully aware of his heat and strength only a few feet away. He had left his shopping cart behind, she realized.

She frowned. “Mr. McCandless—Jace—what are you doing?”

“Giving you a hand, since that delivery driver appears useless.”

She stared. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I’m going to.”

How could she refuse his help? The idea of unloading a truck full of canned goods—their entire month’s supply—by herself and without a forklift was overwhelming.

If Hope’s accident had taught her anything, it was the simple, stark truth that she didn’t always need to take on the world by herself. Sometimes accepting help graciously was the better choice.

This looked like one of those times. “Oh. Um, thank you, then. It’s very nice of you to offer.”

He smiled that sexy, dangerous smile. “Let’s get to it.”

Jace hefted another heavy box onto the dolly, more loose and relaxed than he had been in six weeks. He didn’t know if it was the work or the company.

Good, hard, physical labor was an effective antidote to the restlessness that had been churning through him for far too long. But he also found something soothing about Christa Sullivan.

He couldn’t really explain why, he just knew she had this air of quiet strength about her, of calm competence. It eased something wild and restless and aching inside him.

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