Her Second-Chance Man. Cara Colter

she said.

      “Maybe she’s better off out here,” he conceded reluctantly. “I hate leaving her alone when I’m on night shift. She says she’s too old for a baby-sitter.”

      “She is. She could be baby-sitting herself, for heaven’s sake.”

      “Well, not for anyone who liked their baby.”

      “She does okay with the dog.”

      “Yeah, maybe it’s just me that she’s mean as a rattlesnake to.”

      “Probably.”

      “So,” he said, “are there weapons in your house? Or illegal drugs?”

      “I’m the miffed librarian, remember?”

      He touched the side of her cheek with the palm of his hand. The gesture was unexpected and made her heart race anew. He studied her.

      “That was a mistake. More like Tinker Bell, with fairy dust.”

      “Does that bring us back to the illegal drugs?” she asked, trying to hide the way his hand on her cheek made her feel. Feminine. Beautiful.

      He seemed to realize he was touching her face, so he dropped his hand and then shoved it in his pocket. “I have this parenting book that I read under my covers with a flashlight and it says not to be afraid to ask. You know. About the drugs and weapons.”

      “Brian,” she said taking pity on him, “it won’t help you to be a cop around your niece. I understand that you care about her, and that’s why you conduct these inquisitions before you let her do things, but even that crack about the baby-sitting shows you don’t trust her judgement. Doesn’t the book say anything about that?”

      “I haven’t got to that part yet. I’m not much of a reader.” He shook his head sadly. “I had no idea she named the pup after a writer. I bought her the candy bar after she named him that. I didn’t know why she didn’t eat it.”

      Jessica felt a terrible stab of tenderness for him. He was trying so hard.

      A shiver went up and down her spine, but she shied away from the thought that followed it. No, she owed him nothing. For the child and the dog she would do her best.

      But Brian Kemp? Healing him was way out of her league.

      Still, what could it hurt to offer an opinion?

      “I just feel,” Jessica said, choosing her words carefully, “you would make more headway with Michelle if you were able to tell her the truth.”

      “About?”

      “The way you feel about her. Instead of grilling her friends and looking at her pupils with a flashlight you need to tell her you love her more than the earth, and that you’re worried about her.”

      He actually flushed, a lovely shade of crimson that moved up his neck. “If I told Michelle that, she’d tell me to take a leap. And then she’d go dye her hair green and say, ‘Do you still love me now?’”

      “And wouldn’t you say yes?”

      “No. Okay. Maybe.”

      “Let her know you love her.”

      “She’ll use it against me.”

      “You look like a big, strong guy. You can probably handle it,” Jessica said dryly.

      “You know, the truth is not always the best policy. For instance, when you do an interrogation, you always tell the bad guy that his friend spilled the beans, so he might as well give. It’s generally a bald-faced lie, but sometimes it works. So, it’s a lie but it accomplishes something good.”

      “Well, yes, maybe on the bad guys, which your niece isn’t.”

      “She seems to think I am! You haven’t been living with us for the last six months. She doesn’t like me much.”

      Jessica reminded herself, firmly, that his healing was not her business. On the other hand, there would be places, and probably many of them, where his healing and Michelle’s would be interwoven like threads in a tapestry.

      “Look what happened the last time she loved,” Jessica reminded him softly. “They died.”

      “Are you telling me she’s scared of caring about me?” he asked, incredulous.

      “Yes.”

      “She sure as hell doesn’t act scared. What makes you think she’s scared?”

      Because I loved once, too. Oh, yes, it was a teenage love, more a fantasy than a reality, but that hurt made me afraid to give my heart again, too. How much worse must it be for Michelle?

      “Good old hocus-pocus,” she lied.