Not today, she assured herself.
She led him back the way they’d come, sensing him behind her like a dark, limping ghost, silent except for the heavy fall of his footsteps. The sound of his soft breathing.
He’d unnerved her—more than once, actually. Which in and of itself wasn’t unusual. She was often jittery and anxious, especially around strangers. Too often more concerned about what they were thinking about her than what they were saying. Too worried about making sure they liked her.
It was exhausting. Unfortunately, she had no idea how to stop.
But her nervousness around Zach was...different. More acute. As if her skin was too tight and itchy. Her stomach knotted. She didn’t like how he seemed to see right through all her smiles and cheerful chatter. She’d almost stayed in the kitchen when she’d left Mitchell there with Damien. She’d wanted to hide. All because her inner voice had continued screaming at her to let Zach walk away and find another place to stay.
But her heart had overridden it.
She really needed to start listening to her instincts.
“Here we go,” she said, gesturing for him to enter her office. Following him inside, she shut the door.
And realized her error immediately, as the room seemed to shrink. He had a presence that took up a lot of space. He made her feel small and slight in comparison. It was because he was so broad. Wide through the shoulders and chest. So dark and intense and unsmiling.
Nothing at all like her tall, rangy, golden husband.
She pushed Shane from her mind even as her fingers twitched to check her phone again. For some reason, she didn’t want to think about him now. Didn’t want him arriving and finding her in this cramped space with another man. This man.
And she really, really didn’t want to delve too deeply into why that was.
She certainly didn’t want to remember that weird jump in her belly when she’d tried to take Zach’s bag and he’d lifted his head, their faces inches apart. Or how, for a moment, her breath had caught in her throat and she’d had the strangest sensation of...longing.
Only she had no idea what for.
Didn’t matter. Soon, she’d have everything she wanted. Now she had a job to do.
She shifted, only to realize there was no way to get around Zach. Everywhere she turned, she risked brushing against him. And that would not do. She considered leaping over her desk, but good sense prevailed, forcing her to do a shuffling side step around him, making sure to leave a good six inches between them.
“Have a seat,” she blurted out, practically jumping into her own chair behind her tiny desk. She watched, motionless, while he eased himself into one of the two chairs facing her, grimacing slightly, noticeably favoring his right leg.
“Breathe,” he commanded softly and for a moment, she thought he was talking to himself.
Until her lungs burned and she realized she was the one holding her breath.
And he’d noticed.
Exhaling as quietly as possible, she pretended to be very, very busy booting up her computer. But her face was hot—again. And though she was, indeed, taking in oxygen, the air seemed heated. Stifling. As if he was using it all.
Selfish of him, really.
Ridiculous, she told herself as she opened a new registration form on her computer. There was plenty of air in the room. Air tinged with the scent of sunshine and spring and something spicy—his aftershave? She sneaked a glance at his face, most of it hidden by either his shaggy hair or his beard. Okay. Not his aftershave. And he didn’t seem like the type to use cologne. Whatever it was, it was...nice. Clean and masculine.
And she had absolutely no right to be thinking about the man’s scent. Or liking it. She was a married woman.
She touched her wedding ring, the slight bump of it under her shirt reassuring. She would be a married woman again soon.
Clearing her throat, she forced a smile. “Let’s get you registered.” She bit back a grimace. Well, that had come out quite...enthusiastically. And loudly.
She tried again, softening both her tone and expression. “Is it Zachary?” At his nod, she typed it in, followed by his last name. “Address?”
He hesitated and shifted in his seat. Both actions so subtle, done so quickly, that as he gave her an address in Houston, she wondered if she’d imagined his unease.
“How many nights will you be staying with us?” she asked.
“How many nights are available?”
She felt her brows drawing together at the odd question. Smoothed her expression as she checked future reservations. “That room is open until mid-May.”
“That’ll work.”
Her hands stilled. “You want to stay here for four weeks?”
“Is that a problem?”
She wasn’t sure. “No problem at all.”
But it was strange. Most guests booked Friday to Sunday with the occasional weekday visit thrown in by a rare business traveler or day-trippers wanting to immerse themselves in the local flavor.
Unless...
Unless he wasn’t looking for a place to stay. He was looking for a place to live, for however long he could get it.
He was homeless. That had to be it. And the reason he’d been so uncomfortable when she’d asked for his address was because he didn’t have one. So he’d made one up.
Her heart went out to him. How had he gotten here? What had happened to him? She was curious, as anyone would be, about how he’d gotten those scars and lost his arm. Had it happened a while ago, long enough for him to be used to his limitations? For acceptance?
Maybe it had happened recently and he was still railing against the unfairness of it all. Did he curse his fate? Or blame himself for the choices he’d made that had led to that one moment when his entire world had changed?
Like she blamed herself for her choices. For her world imploding.
Whatever had happened to him, he was here now. Giving her the opportunity to help him try to put that world back together.
Or at least give him a place to stay.
It would be nice to give back. To be the person giving help instead of needing it. To be someone else’s strength. Maybe then she’d be able to figure out how to be her own.
“I’ll need to see photo ID,” she said, adjusting the room’s rate on the form to give him a significant discount. Bradford House wasn’t the most expensive place to stay in Shady Grove, but even their reasonable rates would stretch someone of limited resources.
He handed her a Texas driver’s license along with a second card.
She frowned at it. “What’s this?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “A credit card.” When she stared at him blankly, he added, “To pay for the room.”
She typed in the card information and printed out the form for him to sign. He had a credit card? How was that possible? Where would the bill be sent? Confused, she did what she did best: second-guessed herself.
Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe he wasn’t some homeless drifter in need of help. The address on the driver’s license was different from the one he’d given. And while the man in the photo had dark hair, it was short, the face clean shaven, showing an angular jaw and sharp cheekbones. So different from the man in front of her now.
What if her instincts had been right and he really was dangerous? A criminal on the run or a con man out to fleece