Mr. H nodded. “Lizzie mentioned time was essential.”
“Yeah, the doctors think it’s later stage myeloma, but they still have a few other tests to run.” She took a steadying breath. “Funny, he wanted me to go on this adventure to uncover Julia Ramsden’s brave story so she can be the heroine of his novel, but watching him face this news with such strength and courage?” She shook her head and offered a shrugged smile. “He’s definitely a hero in my book.”
“I’m sorry he couldn’t be here with you.”
Eisley swallowed the football-sized lump in her throat and waved away his concern. “Oh well, Uncle Joe wants a grand and glorious finish. So, this book is the capstone of all his research and previous publications.” The compassion in Mr. Harrison’s eyes almost loosened her pent-up tears. She squeezed his arm, her voice softer. “Besides, it makes a difference when you know where you’re going, right? Fear can’t outshine God’s love, and death can’t, either.”
They’d stopped walking, although people continued zipping past, and suddenly, a wave of peace rushed through her. God’s love glowed brighter than her fears, too. Even if her kids were four thousand miles across a very large ocean. Even if the only grace she had was the grace of God. Even if the thought of any available man dug like a needle into her insecurities.
She chanced a glance at Zeus, and fell right into his stare. Gray-blue and intense. He blinked and cleared his throat, resuming his walk. “How long have you corresponded with Lizzie?”
“Uncle Joe met her at an online genealogy site about a year ago because they both had the same distant ancestors. I joined the conversations about six months later. Once we realized Lizzie actually lived in our ancestor’s home, we all became great friends.” Eisley grinned, but it didn’t make a dent in Wes’s expression. Was he purposely trying to intimidate or was it just a character trait? He sent off all sorts of Mr. Darcy vibes. She stammered on the thought. “She…she didn’t even know about Julia’s story until we met. So, this is going to be a discovery for both of us.”
“What an interesting story.” Wes’s tone edged with suspicion.
A regular sweetheart. Jerks came in all shapes and sizes, even swoony.
“I hope it will be.” She turned her attention back to Mr. Harrison. She wouldn’t let Wes-Needs-Smiling-Lessons Harrison burst her sleuthing joy. “Tomorrow we travel to your cottage?”
“Yes, on the two o’clock train.”
“Fantastic.” She clapped her hands together like a little girl and sighed. “Oh, thank you for helping make this all happen.”
“Well, I think we’ll get on quite well, my dear.” The twinkle returned to Mr. H’s eyes. “And maybe you’ll find a piece of your own story here, too.”
Eisley stared at him, trying to decipher the hidden message his elfish grin held, but his only answer was a gentlemanly gesture of holding the door for her. As his hand reached for the door, he winced.
“Careful, with that wrist, Mr. H. Don’t want to hurt it worse.”
“Hurt?” Wes stopped so suddenly she rammed into his back.
Uh-oh. Open mouth, insert both feet up to the kneecaps. She swallowed. Her cheeks flushed sunburn-hot. “Oh…well…um…we think he sprained his wrist.”
“It’s slightly tender, Eisley. Nothing serious, as I told you.” Mr. Harrison looked to Wes. “No cause for concern.”
Wes tightened like a banjo string. Concern? Oh, he didn’t look concerned. He looked downright mad. At her. Did she have guilty carved into her freckles?
“How did Dad hurt his wrist?”
She opened her mouth to face her inevitable doom when Mr. H answered. “I tripped over an angel.”
Eisley stared at him as if he’d confessed to seeing aliens. “Tripped over me? An angel?” A smile flashed behind his eyes. “Mr. Harrison, are you sure you didn’t get a concussion from your fall along with a sprain?”
“A concussion? Fall?”
So much for subtlety. Might as well fully admit to her guilt, although running away in her near-homicidal heels seemed a more logical option. “I fell on top of your dad.” She’d never been great at logic. “Squished him like a bug.”
The words registered as fast as thawing water. “You did what?”
“Wes,” his dad’s voice firmed. “I’m fine. As you can see for yourself.”
“You fell on him? You’ve been here a grand total of half an hour and you managed to fall on my father?” His gaze darkened to stormy gray and his bass voice added the thunder. “Or perhaps your actions are questionable. It appears terribly convenient to—”
“Wes, she knows nothing of your life.” Mr. Harrison interrupted. “She’s our guest. Not yours.”
“Questionable?” Eisley pushed between them, any warm fuzzies in her stomach fizzed into sparks. “Are you saying I did this on purpose? You don’t even know me. I have a bad habit of being clumsy, okay? And these new shoes didn’t help, but that’s it. An accident, pure and simple.”
She didn’t realize she was so close until she looked down at her finger poking his solid chest. And upon further examination, something seemed strangely familiar about that face and those fiery eyes. But why? She didn’t know anyone from England, let alone the reproduction of a Greek god, but his temperament fit the description: arrogant, rude, quick-tempered, and ready to throw a lightning bolt at a person’s first offense. Fine. She liked him even less.
Wes eyed her feet. “Perhaps you should learn to walk in them before wearing them.”
The truth hurt, but she wasn’t about to admit it. In fact, she wanted to growl and say something brilliant with Jane Austen wit. “Aren’t you a charmer?” Lame. Far from Austen. “I may not be rich and sophisticated, but in the mountains where I’m from, we don’t jump to ridiculous conclusions when we first meet people.” Well, that’s not exactly true. “We usually give them the benefit of the doubt.” On most days.
“Everyone is out for something, Ms. Barrett.” His face inched so close she felt heat radiating off of him. Maybe a lightning bolt was in her future. “Meeting Lizzy online? A mysterious ancestor?” He raised that infernally perfect eyebrow of his. “Even accidents are suspect.”
“Wes.” His father scolded, and then turned to Eisley. “Please excuse Wes’s reaction. He’s not fond of strangers at present.”
“Strangers?” Wes’s gaze didn’t leave her face. “Shrewd and quite devious strangers have caused a lot of trouble for us lately. It would take very little for Ms. Barrett to use her relationship with Lizzie to—”
“Listen here, Mr. Pleasant.” She needled her finger a little deeper into his chest. Handsome or not, she’d learned her lesson about being a doormat. “This was an accident. I can’t even understand why you’re getting so angry. In my life, accidents happen all the time. I’d never hurt anyone on purpose.” Except maybe my ex-husband. “What would I get from crushing a sweet man? A guilty conscience?”
His gray eyes widened, but she wasn’t about to give him time to make more nasty accusations. Jerk.
“If it’s any consolation, I would have much rather landed on you than your dad.” What? Eisley pressed her eyes closed and almost groaned. “I mean, well…falling on you would have been much more gratifying.” She was sure her cheeks deepened to carmine. “I mean...um…never mind.”
She studied the sidewalk then the line of cars. Even Mr. Harrison’s familiar Rockports. Anything to keep from looking at Wes. But he didn’t say anything. Nothing. He just took a step forward, into her space, and brought a wonderful spicy scent with him. The heat in her cheeks shot down her neck. Oh Jesus, please help me. She bit her lip, took a deep breath, and lifted her gaze.
The look in his eyes held her in place without a single touch. Silence captured all competing noise. The world closed into a space where only the two of them existed and the strangest sense of ‘right’ settled over her for the briefest moment. What was God thinking?
Wes recovered first, because she was pretty much stuck in fatal-attrac
tion mode.
“Forgive me, Eisley.” His gaze softened for a moment and then probed far beyond comfortable. “Perhaps I rushed to a conclusion.”
She stepped back and murmured, “At Nascar speeds.”
He cleared his throat and began walking again, the hard edge of his expression a bit more pensive than grumpy. “Since Father’s heart attack two months ago and then the incident with the paparazzi, I’ve been rather cautious of new people. Some strangers posing as family friends sold highly private photos of me and my father shortly after his attack, and it isn’t the first time our privacy has been violated. I’m very protective of my family.”
His sideways glance clearly stated he didn’t trust her. Okay—maybe there still was a little grumpy in his expression. Well, she couldn’t blame him really. His excuses were pretty good. Heart attack and paparazzi? If her father had recently had a—wait. . .paparazzi? She caught her breath. Her throat tightened, so she swallowed. Her gum. Halfway.
A series of unladylike coughs doubled her over. Oh, how she wanted to sink into the sidewalk and never return. Wes touched her shoulder and leaned so close she got lost in the sweet scent of earth and spice and everything nice.
Death by bubble gum might not be so bad.
“Eisley?”
She sucked in a gasp at the sound of her name on his lips, but it was a bad idea. Coughing ensued, right in his face. Come quickly, Lord Jesus. Preferably right now.
Her coughing melted into a humiliated laugh. “I swallowed my gum.” She shrugged, met that thought-blanking gaze again and a new explosion of heat lit her cheeks to the teary point. “Did you say paparazzi?”
Wes exchanged a look with his father and if possible, his posture straightened even more. He distanced himself with a step. “Well, yes.”
Eisley’s lips came unhinged and she looked over at Mr. Harrison. “Are you famous?”
Mr. Harrison grinned. “No, dear. The paparazzi were after Wes.”
Wes? She examined Wes’s face, which wasn’t difficult to do at such close proximity. Somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind the fog began to clear. Wes Harrison? Christopher Wesley Harrison.
She grabbed his arm. “You’re the actor, Christopher—”
“Shhh.” He covered her mouth with his palm, his soft touch forcing a tingle through her. His eyes shot wide and he dropped his hand, apparently as shocked as she was. Maybe she had been struck by lightning!
“Pardon me.” He looked away. “I…I prefer anonymity for now, if you don’t mind.”
Eisley stared, dumbfounded. Words, thoughts, and feelings crashed together inside her head. Christopher Wesley Harrison? No wonder she’d recognized him. No wonder she’d been attracted to him. She wasn’t in danger of losing her heart. She almost giggled at the impossibility of it. He wasn’t like a real person. Everything slowed down. Her breathing, her thoughts, her heartrate. Then the realization hit her.
She was perfectly safe.
Chapter Two
A shock ran up Wes Harrison’s arm, directly from Eisley’s lips. Heat rifled through him, awakening his senses with every detail: the interlocking ribbons of green and gold in her eyes, the warmth of her breath against his palm, the scent of rosemary and mint. From the moment she told him she’d rather have landed on him instead of his father, her honesty set his cynical perspective into a spin. Whether it was the easy drawl of her accent or the feigned innocent look in her eyes, he was tempted to allow the suspicion of the past two years to fall from his shoulders.
To trust again.
The notion terrified him—and resurrected a stone-cold wall around his heart.
He dropped his hand from her mouth and forced the confusing emotions down until they knotted in his chest. Jane’s face flickered across his mind, dousing the sweet aroma of attraction with the hard edge of bitterness. He was no judge of goodness or sincerity. With his reprehensible past, he couldn’t even trust himself.
And he wasn’t a big fan of surprises.
Everyone had an angle, and he worked hard to keep the sharp edges of that angle from digging into his family’s lives. It was a hard lesson to learn, but he had enough scarred memories to keep the truth fresh in his mind.
He’d been in a foul mood ever since his parents had shown up in London the day before and informed him of their visiting guest. A complete stranger. Not six months earlier, pictures of his hospitalized father smattered the pages of a local entertainment magazine, confirming the truth his past engraved in his psyche: Outsiders could not be trusted. Eisley Barrett was no different than those manipulative strangers, or even his unfaithful ex-fiancée. His own experience taught him that if something appeared too good to be true, too sincere, it usually was. He only needed time to call her bluff, so to speak. For example, which extreme reaction would she show at the news of his fame? Shyness or its cheap imitation? A coy smile or bold flirtation? Women were all the same.
Eisley finally released her kempt air and clamped her pink lips together until they formed a slight smile—a smile of uncertainty? Humor? Wes blinked. No, Eisley Barrett looked...relieved?
A nervous laugh bubbled from her. “No worries, Chris—” She slapped her palm over her mouth and offered a muffled laugh before removing it. “I mean, Wes. Your secret’s safe with me. Completely surreal, but totally safe.”
He studied her face, searching for any hint of her duplicity, but her wide eyes gave no indication except disbelief. So, she was an expert player, was she? The cautious edge fisted tighter for protection. He would not fall prey to his weakness with women. Not again.
“Thank you.” He scanned ahead for his car, even though he knew exactly where he parked it. For his parents' sake, he’d maintain his politeness and keep a wary eye on their guest, but believe anyone could be as genuine? Never. Within an hour, she will have texted or tweeted everyone in her cyberworld with news of her encounter with a “famous” British actor. Or somewhat “famous”. He had no desire to return to the high status and demands of his former life. “Not everyone is so obliging.”
She nudged him with her elbow and wrinkled her nose in a grin. “Just one itsy bitsy request, though.”
Cynicism burned a deep line into his counterfeit grin. “Yes?”
“Can I just share it with my mom? She’s not only my best friend, but she’s a huge costume drama fan.”
“Your mother?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Eisley nodded. “That’s all.”
“That’s all, is it?” Unlikely.
Her eyes widened and she drew to a stop in the middle of the walk. “Okay, I thought we established I’m an honest person. That I have no intention of dispatching sweet elderly gentleman or ratting out handsome British actors.” She pointed a finger and frowned. “And don’t narrow your eyes at me like I’m some sort of criminal. I’m just clumsy.”
“My father seems to trust you enough to invite you into his home.” Wes shot his father a severe look, but was promptly ignored. “How could I offer less?”
“I’m grateful for his kindness, and my Uncle Joe is too, but that’s all I’m after—preferably without head wounds.” Her hands followed the animation in her words. “Research and the opportunity to discover the history and romance of England. Nothing else.”
He stopped in front of his car and crossed his arms, softening his stance as he leaned against its blue cover. Let the game begin. “Romance, is it?”
“I love romance.” She sighed like a little girl at the end of a bedtime fairy tale. “I just like it tucked safely between the covers of a book or framed by the television screen. It’s nice and predictable there.” She raised a palm, forehead crinkling a bit. “I’m all for two-dimensional romance, thanks. Real romance scares me all the way to my knobby knees. My heart’s not ready for a sequel to my past.”
A twinge of guilt pricked at his conscious. Her past? With the joy pumping through each syllable she uttered, her past couldn’t hold the same deep wounds as his. It all had to be a game—a ploy—and he was full-u
p of being a pawn by fame hunters.
“Oh no, I did it again. I spilled every thought in my head and jabbered away like a monkey with ADHD.” She rubbed her fingers into her shaking head, the motion sending more of her minty scent his direction. “My mom keeps repeating that Bible verse to me—we must be quick to listen, slow to speak—but it hasn’t stuck yet. I’m sorry.”
Wes cleared his throat and forced out a hesitant reply, snuffing the slight spark of curiosity. “Not at all.” Who was this woman? And what did she really want? “I’ll place your luggage in the boot.”
Dad ushered Eisley to the offside door. “Eisley, sit in front with Wes so you can have a proper view of the sights through town.” His dad’s eyes twinkled like Father Christmas. Not a good sign. “I should like to rest in back.”
Rest? No, his father was busy scheming, and Wes had a sneaky suspicion he and Eisley Barrett were part of the plot.
***
Wes maneuvered through morning traffic, barely conscious of the conversation between Eisley and his father regarding American and British driving. He couldn’t shake the niggling of doubt she posed. In all his years around a variety of women, nothing prepared him for the apparent authenticity Eisley Barrett peddled. Add to the scenario his father’s odd behavior, and he felt trapped outside his own story. Looking in—and confused about the next scene.
“So, Ms. Barrett, when you’re not traveling the world and accosting men in airports, what is it you do?”
He’d intended to slight her, but her smile bloomed and his chest constricted in a contradictory reaction. “Well, when I’m not torturing you and your father, I work as a preschool teacher. My adoring fans stand about yea-high.” She measured the distance with her palm. “And pay me in kisses, snotty noses, and enough artwork to decorate the airport.” She leaned closer and narrowed her eyes. “Jealous?”
Just the Way You Are (A Pleasant Gap Romance Book 1) Page 2
