Marnie forced a smile she hoped looked genuine. “I imagine it’s very different from some of the other places you’ve lived. I mean, a guy who followed his dad to jobs in Australia and England and Canada when he was a teenager, settling in a quiet state like Kentucky? Who would’ve guessed?”
“It’s different from those places in some ways, yeah,” he agreed. “But I like it as well or better than any of them.” He hesitated a moment before adding, “Though it always feels good to come back to Australia. I was born here, even if I moved back to Ohio with my mom before I started school, so I guess, technically, it’s home.”
They spent the next hour in companionable conversation, only skimming the surface of whatever they might actually be thinking or feeling, at least on Marnie’s part. But she was grateful for it. For now, at least, they both seemed willing to let whatever lay in the past stay there. She’d worry about the future when it came. And she’d worry about the past some other time. For this evening, she was content to just reacquaint herself with Daniel. Even if it was only superficially. And even if it wouldn’t last.
Gosh, just like old times.
After finishing dinner, they returned to Sam’s hospital room to check on him, but he’d just been given a sedative and the nurse said he was expected to sleep through the night with no change. Daniel double-checked to be sure the hospital had his cell number, then said he’d be at his father’s house if there were any developments.
He turned to Marnie. “Where are you staying?”
“I’m staying here in Pepper Flats, actually,” she said. “At the Wallaroo Inn.”
“How long will you be in town?”
Not an easy question to answer, Marnie thought—honestly or dishon…uh, not straightforwardly. As long as it took to clear Louisa’s name and ensure that the Fairchild Gala went off without a hitch. Hopefully, that wouldn’t take long. But how was Marnie supposed to answer him honestly without revealing the nature of her job? And why was she putting off telling him when he was bound to find out anyway? Especially since his question provided her with a perfect opening?
“I…” She hesitated a moment, telling herself to just spit out the truth and be done with it. Instead, she heard herself say, “Not long.”
And she hoped like hell that Louisa did what Marnie told her to do so they could put this all behind them and Marnie could go back to San Diego. Otherwise, she’d just told Daniel a lie. The only lie she’d ever told him, and she hoped it was the last one.
“I’m staying at my dad’s place,” he said. “He has a spread called Whittleson Stud about a half hour from here. Can I give you a lift back to the hotel? Or do you have a car?”
“I have a car,” she told him. “But I took a cab to the hospital because I didn’t want to have to navigate the town my first night here after such a long flight.”
He looked at her with surprise, and at first, she didn’t know why.
“You just got here today?”
She nodded reluctantly.
“And you came to the hospital before doing anything else?”
She nodded again, even more reluctantly. He was going to think there was something suspicious about that.
Instead, he smiled and that ribbon of heat unfurled in her once more. But it was replaced by guilt when he added, “That was nice of you, Marnie. I didn’t realize you thought so highly of my dad.”
Yeah, that was her, she thought. Always thinking of her clients’ shooting victims first.
“The least I can do is give you a ride back then,” he offered. “No sense paying for a taxi if you don’t have to.”
Marnie knew she should decline, but the prospect of spending a little more time with Daniel won out. “Thanks,” she said. “I appreciate it.”
For perhaps the hundredth time in as many minutes, Daniel asked himself what the hell he thought he was doing. This time, though, he did it twice—one what-the-hell for driving Marnie back to her hotel, and another what-the-hell for insisting he follow her up to her room to make sure she arrived safely. A woman traveling alone couldn’t be too careful, he’d told her. Even in small towns.
But he knew that was only part of the reason. In spite of having spent the last eight years trying to forget about her, he realized he was still powerfully attracted to Marnie Roberts. Maybe even more than he’d been in San Diego. He’d been a kid in San Diego, uncertain of himself and not especially confident where women were concerned. He’d always told himself that was why he’d fallen so hard for Marnie in the first place—because he’d been so inexperienced, and she’d seemed so sophisticated. But his experiences since then had only made him realize tonight just how special Marnie Roberts was, and how lucky he’d been to meet her when he did.
Not much had changed in that regard, he thought. She was still special. And he still felt lucky to have met her.
The dazzling, effervescent girl had blossomed into a stunning, elegant woman. As they’d chatted tonight, Daniel had been transfixed by her. By the changes in her. She seemed so much more confident, so much more poised than she had been before. Stronger. More seasoned. More womanly. She appealed to him in ways she hadn’t before. Probably because he’d changed so much himself.
Now, as he stood behind her and watched her slip her key card into the lock of the hotel-room door, he didn’t know what to say. What to do. How to act. He watched as the little green light flashed, followed by the click that said everything was okay. But nothing felt okay. And instead of signaling a go-ahead, the green light seemed to be a warning of some kind. Whether it was trying to warn Marnie or him, he couldn’t have said.
The room was dark when she pushed the door open, and she mumbled something about having wished she’d turned a light on before she left.
“I’ll get it,” he volunteered. And before she had a chance to decline, he was pushing into the room past her, trying not to notice the soft swish and click of the door as it closed behind them, throwing them into darkness.
Well, not complete darkness, he realized, since the curtains were open and the scattered lights of Pepper Flats lay beyond—not as bountiful as they would be in a big city, but glittery enough to look as if someone had tossed a handful of diamonds onto a black velvet background. He and Marnie were, however, utterly alone.
And before he realized what he was doing, Daniel heard himself say, “Marnie, I’m sorry about the way things turned out in Del Mar.”
She said nothing at first, only strode across the room and stared out the window beside him. Although he couldn’t see her well in the darkness—he still hadn’t switched on a light…but then, neither had she—he imagined her expression was probably much the same as it had been in the hospital waiting room. A little preoccupied, a little anxious, a little confused.
Finally, very softly, she said, “Are you?”
He expelled a long breath. “Yeah. I am. I shouldn’t have left you that letter the way I did. I should have explained things to you face-to-face.”
“Yes, you should have.” She hesitated before adding, “Is that the only reason you’re sorry?”
She wasn’t going to make this easy, was she? Then again, he didn’t deserve for her to make it easy. Hell, he’d brought this on himself by wading into the past in the first place, when he should have remained rooted in the present, where they had both seemed content to stay all evening. In spite of that,