Page 13 of Threat of Danger
“Which is why I don’t need your help.” She marched toward the garage, dismissing him.
He fell in step next to her. “We should talk.”
She said nothing. She noted, however, that he had a limp. She’d been too upset earlier, at his showing up out of the blue, to notice.
He stepped in front of her to open the side door, then flipped on the lights both inside and outside. “You hate being here. You shouldn’t be back.”
She set the chair by the wall and faced him. She tried to channel some serenity, but it wasn’t coming. “You think I want to be here?” she snapped.
His slate eyes flashed with frustration that matched hers. “I’m serious. I can help Rose. There’s no need for you to stay.” He shook his head, looked at the chair, and picked it up. “If we bring out a bunch of stuff, it’s better to start stacking in the back.”
She grabbed the chair back from him, but only because, after a second of tug-of-war, he let her. She smacked it down right next to her. “What’s wrong with your leg?”
Impatience flashed in his eyes. Or maybe resentment.
So therewerethings that bothered him. Just not their past. Not coming back here to live. Not looking out at the sugar bush where her life had been destroyed forever.
“My chopper got shot down in the service.” Brief and emotionless, the words were delivered with a finality that discouraged further questions on the subject.
His chopper got shot down. He could have been killed.Jess’s chest squeezed. Her gaze strayed to his leg again before bouncing back to his face. “How bad is it? How long before you’re fully healed?”
“The leg is as good as it’s going to get.” He shrugged, but his words had an edge. “Doesn’t matter. I spend half my life in a chair, in front of a computer, anyway.”
By necessity? Because he couldn’t do anything physical? A second or two passed before Jess fully caught up to that thought. She’d always thought of him as indestructible. He looked indestructible, even now, with the limp.
Not for a second did she believe that the injury didn’t bother him. Even the slightest weakness had to aggravate a man as physical as Derek. At one time, he’d wanted to be a professional rugby player. He’d been on the college team. He’d had recruiters looking at him already, that early.
As if knowing what she was thinking, he said, “I liked the game, but I’m OK with being off the field. I played for the navy, made it to the USNA rugby team. And I have the trophies to prove it. Want to come over and see?”
That last part was said in Derek’s old, light tone, the sudden change giving Jess whiplash. A sharp longing cut through her.Oh, hell no.She mercilessly killed the impulse to soften. Memory lane was a slippery slope.
She strode across the empty side of the garage, all the way to the back, grabbed the dolly, and pushed it in front of her as she headed out. “You can leave the door open, I’ll be coming back. Goodbye, Derek.”
He followed her back into the house.
“Hey, Zelda. How are you today? Want me to bring in some wood for the fireplace?” He gave the old woman a hug that was brief, but also warm and real, nothing perfunctory about the embrace.
“I’m all right for tonight.” Zelda patted his shoulder. “Thank you, anyway.”
Jess stared at the two.
Apparently Derek was a frequent visitor, because he said, “I don’t suppose you have any of that beef stew left?”
Zelda flashed a coy smile. “I might. Come back to the kitchen.”
“I’ll help Jess carry out some furniture first.” Derek turned to Jess, all his earlier anger carefully tucked away as he played the gentleman for Zelda. “What’s next?”
Jess couldn’t make him leave, short of picking him up and carrying him to his truck, and she wasn’t that strong. She pointed at the secretaire. “You want to put out your back, be my guest.”
He rolled up his sleeves, eased the heavy oak piece onto the dolly without any visible effort, then took the handle from her. “You bring another chair.”
She didn’t want to fight with him. Just seeing him left her emotionally drained. She would let him carry out a couple of the bigger pieces, tell him they were done, and then he’d leave.
Jess picked up a chair and followed him. She didn’t allow her gaze to hesitate on the way his quads filled out his jeans, subtly stretching the denim. If he was a writer and sat at a desk all day, as he’d said, how on earth was he so built? Not something she needed to think about, for sure. She snatched her gaze from his wide shoulders and looked at his hair.There, hair should be safe.
“Did you have to leave the next Oscar winner to be here?” he asked over his shoulder.
Had he kept up with her career? The thought unsettled her. She hadn’t been settled since his pickup had rolled up the driveway. “I’m in between movies. And stunt people can’t get Oscars. There’s no category for our work.”
