He’d bet on the rainbow.
A few minutes later when Honor’s front door opened, Hogan was already gone. Propping a shoulder on the window frame, Jason watched her as she stepped out, locked the door and double-checked it.
Smart.
She wore skinny jeans, sandals and an oversize top that mostly concealed her figure. Before stepping off her rickety porch she opened an umbrella—one that sported wide, bold stripes in every color imaginable.
Yup, rainbow colors.
He’d like to see the progress she’d made inside the house, but just as the rains had kept her inside, they’d kept him away from the yard. He’d worked either inside his garage or not at all. Probably for the best. If he got inside her house and saw her workload, he’d want to help.
He and his nephew were alike that way. But she’d already made it clear that his help was unwanted.
As Honor darted into the rain and to her car, he tracked her every move, and nodded.
Trouble—with a capital T.
* * *
Hours later, as Jason lay in the dark trying to sleep, he heard her pull in to the driveway. Her headlights cut across his window, briefly illuminating his room before she turned them off. She didn’t slam her car door, but the sound of it closing echoed over the quiet streets. He glanced at the clock and saw it was 2:00 a.m.
Without giving it much thought, he threw back the sheet and strode to the window to look out. He had a better view from his dining room, with that view directly facing her front porch, but he was naked, so he stayed in his bedroom and lifted aside the curtain.
Sometime during the night the rain had stopped. Black clouds parted and moon shadows danced over the yard. The faint glow of her porch light showed the exhaustion visible in every line of her body. At the bottom step of the porch she paused and looked up, staring at the skinny crescent moon for a very long time.
While Jason stared at her.
His heart beat heavily and he felt unfamiliar things, things that only partially involved lust. Every day for a week he’d thought about her, watched for her, worried over her situation.
He wanted to lend a hand. It went against his nature not to. But she’d been pretty clear on her preferences.
Finally she lowered her head, rubbed at her eyes, then trudged up the steps and, after fumbling at her door for longer than should have been necessary, she went in.
Telling himself he’d only watch to ensure that she got inside safely, Jason waited.
Lights came on as she walked through the house to the kitchen, then out again when she went to her bedroom.
She must have undressed in the dark.
When all stayed quiet, Jason decided she’d gone to bed.
After a deep breath he dropped the curtain and did the same.
* * *
There were two types of problems.
The type where, if you just told someone, things could work out. People would have answers or suggestions, or they’d offer desperately needed help. You shared and others got involved and things got better. Honor had always considered it dumb when people kept their problems to themselves if sharing could make things easier.
Unfortunately she never seemed to have those types of problems. She had the other kind. The kind where no solutions existed and talking to others equated to whining because you knew they couldn’t help. Sharing only drew them in and made them feel responsible, and then resentful.
Or worse, they felt sorry for you.
She never wanted anyone to pity her.
Once, in a moment of weakness, she’d explained everything to Lexie—and learned a valuable lesson. Lexie had an overprotective streak, which meant she griped nonstop on Honor’s behalf. Even worse, Lexie’s mean-spirited barbs put Honor in the unpalatable position of having to defend her family.
She disliked that almost as much as the pity.
But she loved Lexie. She especially loved that Lexie was coming over that night. She could use a dose or two of laughter to help her stay focused.
She’d awakened late after sleeping through her alarm. Luckily sunshine cut straight though her makeshift curtains, which, as Jason had suggested, were really tacked-up sheets. At the moment, she couldn’t afford real window treatments.
Grateful for the beautiful day, she’d swilled coffee, hopped in and out of the shower, brushed her teeth and hair, forfeited even the most basic makeup and was now rushing out.
After securing all the locks on the door, she turned for the porch steps—and drew up short at the sight of her trash...everywhere.
Oh no.
As she stared in horror, Jason righted the overturned trash can, and then he and Colt began picking it all up. Hand to the top of her head as if to keep her numb brain contained, gaze going everywhere to take in the catastrophe, Honor strode out to the yard. Feeling sick, she asked, “What happened?”
As if it didn’t matter, Jason glanced at her, over her, then answered while getting back to work, “You didn’t have a lid on your garbage can, and winds knocked it over during the storm.”
She was already late. What to do?
Standing, Colt noticed her shock. “Hey, no worries. You can go on and I’ll take care of it.”
Bless him.
But then Jason slanted her a look. It wasn’t exactly condemnation. Truthfully she didn’t know what to call it; she just absolutely knew she couldn’t walk away yet.
Mouth pinched to keep the groan contained, she dumped her purse, packed lunch and keys into the driver’s seat of her small car and started grabbing up garbage. Luckily none of it was the nasty kind. Nothing too personal.
She chased down a piece of paper skipping over the lawn, and almost collided with Jason.
Of course the man was shirtless again.
Did he only own pants?
Rain or shine, he usually worked in the garage and his requisite outfit included some variation on jeans or shorts, athletic shoes or work boots—and no shirt.
Occasionally he wore a trucker’s cap...backward.
When he wasn’t too close, when she only spied on him through a window, she could take it. Barely.
But now, with only a foot between them? Awareness thrummed through her bloodstream, her skin went warm and keeping her gaze on his face proved nearly impossible. “I’ve got it,” she mumbled, and started to reach for the paper.
Jason got to it before she could.
She quickly stepped back—and he followed.
“Honor?”
“Hmm?”
Taking her by surprise, he tipped up her chin and studied her face. “You look tired.”
God, his fingers were hot, a little rough, and they sent her heartbeat into a frantic race. “No.” Her false smile felt absurd. “I’m good.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth, wandered lower—then came back to her eyes. “Yes, you are. Maybe too good—because you can’t lie for shit.” His hand left her chin but only so he could trace a fingertip along her cheekbone. “You’ve got dark circles under your eyes.”
Deadpan,