He bent to retrieve it, flipping the cover over to read the title: Banishing Fear—How to Find Courage in Christ.
A woman of faith. Interesting.
An interesting title, too.
What was his neighbor afraid of? And why was she seeking courage?
Weighing the book in his hand, he debated what to do with it. He doubted she’d appreciate him showing up at her door. Especially holding a book with a revealing title like this. But he couldn’t leave it in the sand, either.
She had a back porch, though. He’d glimpsed it this morning from his bedroom window. If he left it there, there’d be no need for face-to-face contact.
Decision made, he started up the steps. It was a long haul, and despite his stringent exercise regime, he was breathing harder after the steep climb. As he paused at the top, he glanced at the back of the bungalow next door, visible through the trees that divided the properties. The trek up would have been a lot tougher for his pregnant neighbor. Based on the quick glimpse he’d gotten when her towel had slipped, she was seven or eight months along—and she’d been lugging a lot more stuff than he was.
Yet she’d refused his offer of assistance.
A woman of mystery, no question about it.
He made a quick detour to lean his beach chair against one of the two Adirondack chairs behind Mark’s Cape Cod-style, white clapboard house, setting his mug on the chair’s broad arm. Then he crossed the lawn, circled around the woods and headed for his neighbor’s porch.
His step faltered, however, as the screened structure came into view.
She was inside.
He’d have turned around at once—except he didn’t like what he saw. She was balanced on a ladder, reaching toward the fixture in the ceiling. Attempting to change a lightbulb.
And the ladder didn’t look any too stable.
He lengthened his stride.
All at once, as if to reinforce his conclusion, the ladder wobbled. As he broke into a sprint, she clutched at the sides, dropping the replacement bulb in the process. He heard it shatter as he took the two porch steps in one leap, opened the door and grabbed for the ladder, tossing the book he was carrying onto a wicker settee.
His sudden appearance seemed to rattle her as much as the wobbling ladder had. Sucking in a sharp breath, she tried to descend quickly. But she missed a rung, and Luke relinquished his grip on the ladder to catch her when she slipped backward.
As his arms went around her and he absorbed her weight, he heard her panicked gasp. Felt the tremors coursing through her. Sensed her almost palpable fear.
And when her oversized T-shirt slipped off one shoulder, he also saw the jagged scar of recent vintage near her collarbone.
“You’re okay.” He gentled his voice, his focus still on the scar. “I’ve got you. Take a few deep breaths.”
If she heard him, she gave no indication. Instead, she jerked out of his arms and stumbled toward her back door. As if she was running away.
Again.
As she fumbled with the knob, her back to him, he tried to reassure her.
“Look—I just came over to return your book. You must have dropped it on the beach.”
She froze. Checked him out over her shoulder.
He tipped his head toward the book on the settee.
Flicking a look in that direction, she blushed. Then she turned halfway toward him, keeping one hand on the knob. As if prepared to flee at the slightest provocation. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” He gestured toward the ladder. “I think you need to replace that. It’s seen better days.”
“I will.”
“In the meantime, why don’t you let me change the bulb for you?”
“That’s not necessary. Thank you.”
Let it go, Luke. She doesn’t want your help.
Even as that advice echoed in his mind, Luke found himself pushing—for reasons that eluded him.
“I don’t mind. Might as well finish the job, as long as the ladder’s out.”
Without waiting for a reply, he repositioned the ladder and climbed up two rungs. Then he angled toward her expectantly.
She lifted her head and regarded him in silence, her expression uncertain.
He waited her out. Trying to maintain a pleasant, nonthreatening demeanor. Trying to figure out what was going on with his skittish neighbor. And trying not to get distracted by the wide green eyes fringed with thick, sweeping lashes, that had been hidden behind sunglasses earlier.
At last, she fumbled for the knob behind her. “Okay. Give me a minute.”
With that, she disappeared inside. The door shut behind her. And though he was a few feet away, he heard the lock quietly slide into place.
Did he come across as that untrustworthy? Or was there some other reason for his neighbor’s extreme caution?
Like that scar?
As he puzzled over those questions, he heard the lock again. A moment later, she exited, bulb in hand. Moving toward him, she stayed as far back as possible and held it up.
He had to lean sideways to reach it. As soon as the transfer was made, she retreated to the door.
After unscrewing the old bulb, he inserted the new one and rejoined her on the porch floor. He spoke over his shoulder as he folded up the rickety ladder.
“Where would you like this?”
“Just set it against the wall for now.”
He did as she asked. He wasn’t crazy about her carrying the heavy old wooden ladder, but it was better than her climbing on it. And he suspected he’d pushed enough for one day.
Brushing off his hands, he moved to the porch door—trying to give her the wide perimeter of personal space she seemed to require.
“By the way, I’ve staked out a spot at the far end of the beach. That way, we’ll each have our privacy.”
“Okay.”
“Well…see you around.”
She didn’t respond. But as Luke descended the steps and crossed her lawn, he had the feeling she was watching him leave.
And hoping she wouldn’t be seeing him around.
He was back.
Kelsey couldn’t see him in the darkness. But she knew he was there. She could feel his presence. Behind her. Or in the woods on either side of her. Somewhere close.
Too close.
She had to get away.
Increasing her speed from a jog to a run, she pushed herself forward. Beads of sweat formed on her brow and began to trickle down her face. She shouldn’t have come out here alone at night.
Panic surged through her, and she ran harder. Trying to elude her pursuer.
But she couldn’t. He was faster. Stronger. She could hear his ragged breathing as he drew closer.
A sob rose in her throat. There were lights up ahead. People. Activity. In another two minutes she’d—
A hand gripped her arm.
Another clamped over her mouth.
She was yanked backward and dragged into the woods. She kicked. Twisted. Scratched. Nothing loosened the man’s vise-like grip. He slammed her to the ground. Pressed a knife to her throat. Told her if she screamed