It did not at all make her feel good to think she had offended him. She might be paranoid about men, and with good reason, but she didn’t want to hurt anyone needlessly. Not even a strange man.
Who wasn’t quite a stranger any longer. He’d been forthcoming with her this morning. But that couldn’t change her instinctive reaction.
Damn, she thought privately as she walked. She passed people she recognized, a few of the women who frequented her store, giving smiles and nods but not pausing. She had to get home. She wondered if she would arrive to find that Austin was moving out.
She decided she was catastrophizing what was surely a minor incident. If he left because of an expression on her face, then she was better off without any roomer at all. Its not as if she needed the money. She just didn’t like living alone in a big, empty house.
Probably another thing she could trace back to her mother’s murder. She sighed, feeling a whole bunch of self-disgust. She was grown-up now, and surely she should have conquered at least some of her childhood fears. It didn’t matter that they were grounded in real events. What mattered was that they still ruled her.
She picked up her pace, trying to infuse herself with determination, although for what she didn’t know.
She let herself into her house after waving to old Mrs. Bushnell across the street. The woman couldn’t get around much anymore, but she did enjoy rocking on her porch on a sunny, pleasant afternoon.
Corey needed to get over there again soon, she decided. Mrs. Bushnell’s children dropped by often to look in on her, but the woman had been one of her grandmother’s dear friends, and from time to time Corey liked to drop by with some baked goods and a little conversation. It had been a few weeks now. Too long.
Inside, she almost froze as she closed the door. The house was silent, but she could smell someone else. A man. Austin, she realized, putting the scents together. Leather, man and a faint scent of bar soap.
Her heart had accelerated at her initial awareness, but she drew a couple of deep breaths and tried to calm herself down. This was stupid, she told herself. Absolutely stupid. After eighteen years?
In the kitchen, she started a pot of coffee, and after looking around, she realized there was no house key on the counter or table. Apparently Austin hadn’t decided to move out. Yet. Considering her reluctance to have him here, her own relief surprised her. She didn’t want him but she did want him?
Now, that was royally confusing. Maybe it was time to try some therapy again. Maybe it was time to pry that awful memory out of the place where she had buried it. Sometimes she wondered if having a face to put on the killer would make it easier to be around other men. Maybe she felt this way only because she didn’t know what he looked like and he was still out there somewhere. Maybe she would have been better off if she had remembered the murder, gruesome though it had been.
She heard the key in the front lock. Austin. The coffee had just started brewing, so she moved quickly to the table and sat, hoping she looked casual.
He headed straight for the stairs. She hesitated, then called out, “I’m making fresh coffee if you’d like some.” She had to smooth this over somehow.
She heard him pause, as if thinking her offer over, then his footsteps drew closer and he appeared in the kitchen doorway.
“Do you want company?” he asked bluntly. “Because really, I’m trying not to get in your way.”
She felt her cheeks heat. “I’m sorry. Truly.”
“Being looked at as if I’m about to hurt you isn’t very enjoyable.”
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, and started to lower her head.
“I mean,” he continued, “you don’t have to like me, don’t have to spend time with me. I get that I’m renting from you for a few months and we don’t need to have a social relationship. Unfortunately, I’m cross-cultural. A gentleman offers to walk a lady home.”
She winced, beginning to get a clear picture of her reaction to his offer. And understanding why he had responded as he had. Clearly, he was not one to pretend that nothing had happened. Maybe he was utterly through with pretense after his undercover work.
“Corey?”
She looked up. His face was still all hard angles.
“I just want to know what the hell you want from me. Leave? Stay? Stay out of your way?”
She motioned to the seat across from her and tried to find her voice. “Coffee. Then I’ll try to explain a little.”
He hesitated a moment, then went and filled mugs for each of them. He settled across from her and waited, his dark gaze firmly fixed on her. It was almost unnerving, that intensity, but she supposed he’d gotten very good at reading people, especially faces.
She cleared her throat, feeling as if her accelerating heart were trying to climb up into it. “When I... When I was seven, my mother was murdered.”
At once he stiffened a bit, but at least he didn’t try to say anything.
“Evidently I was there. I witnessed it. But I don’t remember any part of it. Traumatic amnesia. It’s been eighteen years, but I still have a problem with men I don’t know well. It has nothing to do with you. It’s just me.”
“They didn’t catch the guy?”
She shook her head. “Not a clue.”
“So, he’s still out there.”
“Maybe.”
“No wonder,” was all he said.
But those two simple words seemed to free up something inside her. “I was thinking, after the way I reacted when you offered to walk me home, if I wouldn’t be better in the long run if I could remember.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I honestly don’t know. Overall it’s probably best that you don’t remember.”
“I had therapy for a few years after, and the psychologist would agree with you. But I’m not so sure anymore.”
“Why?”
“I know it was a terribly brutal murder. I’m glad I don’t remember that part. But if I could remember the guy’s face...” She trailed off. This seemed like a remarkably intimate discussion to be having with someone she didn’t know. Yet something about him invited confidences. Probably part of what had made him good at his job.
She sighed. “I may not remember, but it’s left me with an indelible suspicion of men. Apparently that much didn’t vanish into amnesia.”
He nodded and sipped some coffee. “That’s why you didn’t really want to rent to me, and why you reacted the way you did when I offered to walk you home. It makes perfect sense. Would you like me to move out? I don’t like the idea that I’m making you uneasy by staying here.”
“I don’t want you to move out.” The words came with surprising ease. “It’s getting easier for me, and I need that, if you can put up with my quirks.”
At that he smiled. “I know quirks. Yours aren’t that bad.” Then his smile faded. “I’m sorry about your mother.”
“I was actually lucky. My grandmother and aunt took me in. In fact, the scariest part I can remember was the three days I spent in foster care.”
“Why three days?”
“Because they had to prove they were related to me and go through background checks. There was other stuff, too, I guess. The sheriff here even had to attest to their ability to care for me. I don’t remember that part, obviously, but my grandmother and aunt told me about it. They wanted