Kitabı oku: «The Guardian's Mission», sayfa 3

FIVE

The phone rang just after seven Sunday morning, dragging Marti from restless, nightmare-filled sleep. She scowled as the answering machine picked up and Jennifer Gardner’s soft southern drawl filled the room. “Marti? Jenny, here. I heard what happened Friday and was calling to see if you needed me to fill in on nursery duty for you. Adam and I just got back from Cancún. It was absolutely the most relaxing, fantastic place to honeymoon. Maybe you and Brian…Oh, I am so sorry. I did hear that the two of you broke up.” Her pause was dramatic and typical Jennifer. Marti could almost imagine the dark-haired beauty pressing the phone close to her ear, hoping Marti would feel compelled to answer.

She didn’t.

She’d spent the previous day fielding calls from friends, acquaintances, local newspaper reporters. She did not plan to add to that by explaining the situation to Jennifer, who, if she’d taken the time to check things out, would have realized that Martha had found someone to replace her in the nursery as soon as she’d decided to spend the weekend in the mountains.

“Marti? Are you there? You do know you’re signed up to work in the toddler nursery, don’t you?”

“Yes. I know. And, no, I don’t need anyone to fill in for me. Even if I did, I wouldn’t ask a lacquer-nailed, overly hair-sprayed former homecoming queen who knows as much about kids as I do about curling irons.” Marti muttered the words as she turned down the volume of the answering machine, muting the rest of Jennifer’s long message.

Her attitude stunk, and Martha knew it, but she seemed helpless to get a handle on her irritation. Chalk it up to lack of sleep, or too many nightmares. Whatever the case, there was no way she planned to spend another day answering the phone and being nice to people who were more interested in gossip than in her well-being. She was going out. Not just out. She was going to church. At least there most of the people truly cared about how she was doing.

She grabbed a dress from her closet, barely noticing the color or style as she hurried to shower and change. Her ears strained for sounds that didn’t belong, her heart pounding a quick, erratic beat. No matter how many times she told herself she was safe, she couldn’t seem to shake the fear that had been nipping at her heels all weekend.

When she was a kid, she hadn’t been afraid of monsters under the bed or bogeymen in closets. It seemed ironic that she was now. Every noise, every shadow made her jump. Every night was filled with potential danger.

Worse, her hands were still shaking, her pulled-back nails throbbing as she grabbed a brush and raked it through her hair. The pain reminded her of the desperate moments in the trailer; the danger just outside the metal prison she’d been trapped in. Johnson’s dead eyes staring at her. Memorizing her.

Her heart leaped at the thought, and she took a deep breath. Johnson was surely in jail now. She would never see him again. The thought should have been comforting, but wasn’t. She swept blush across her cheeks, hoping to liven her pale face. It didn’t help. She still looked pale. Still looked scared. But she was going to church.

Because there was no way she was going to let fear control her. She smiled at her reflection. There. That was better. All she had to do was pretend she was fine. Eventually, she’d believe it.

She grabbed her purse and Bible. A few hours away from the house would be good for her. Maybe after church she’d visit Sue and Dad, beg a home-cooked meal off them. At least then she wouldn’t have to be alone.

Until tonight. When it was dark again and memories of gunshots and blood filled her dreams.

She shuddered, stepping out into cool, crisp air.

“You clean up good, Sunshine.” The deep rumble cut through the morning quiet, and Marti whirled toward the speaker. Tall. Light hair. Icy blue eyes that raked her from head to toe. A slight smile curving firm lips. Left arm in a sling that couldn’t hide the thick muscles of biceps and shoulders.

“Sky?”

“Actually, it’s Tristan. Tristan Sinclair.” He moved up the porch stairs, and Marti took a step back, not sure if she should run into the house or stand her ground. He’d saved her life, but he’d also been responsible for dragging her through the mountains with Gordon Johnson. He was a militia member. A man who dealt in illegal weapons. Who hung out with murderers and felons. Who was supposed to be in jail.

“What do you want? Why aren’t you in prison?”

“To make sure you’re safe, and because I didn’t commit a crime.”

“You were in the mountains to buy illegal weapons. That’s a felony.”

“It would be if that’s what I had been doing.”

“So you’re saying you weren’t?”

“I’m saying things aren’t always what they seem. Now, how about we go inside to discuss this?”

“Anything we need to say can be said out here.”

“It can be, but that might not be for the best. You’re not safe, Sunshine. The sooner you realize that, the better.”

“Is that a threat?” Her heart slammed a quick, hard beat as she reached for the doorknob. He was close, but not so close that she couldn’t get inside the house and lock the door before he grabbed her. She hoped.

“It’s a warning. Gordon Johnson escaped into the mountains Friday. He still hasn’t been apprehended.”

Johnson had escaped? A shiver of fear raced up Marti’s spine. “Why didn’t the police tell me this?”

“You’ll have to ask them that.”

“I will.” The hollow thud of her heart echoed in her ears as she turned and shoved the door open. Of all the men she’d run into Friday, Johnson was the one she most feared. The one whose lifeless eyes haunted her dreams. If he was really out there somewhere, she wanted to know. She’d call Officer Miller. He’d be able to tell her what was going on.

The soft click of the door and the quiet slide of the bolt pulled her from numb fear. Or maybe dumb fear was a better term. She’d just let the man who’d kidnapped her walk into her house!

She whirled to face Tristan.

He stood just a few feet away, leaning against the door, blocking her escape. She could run for the back door, but he’d be on her before then.

The phone! Grab the phone and call for help.

She lifted the receiver. “I’m calling the police.”

“Good idea. Tell Officer Miller I found your place just fine.”

Marti hesitated with the phone halfway to her ear. “You spoke to him?”

“He said you were asking about my injury.” He flashed white teeth, but Marti wouldn’t exactly call the expression a smile. “He also said you lived off the beaten path at the end of a dead-end street. Not the most secure house in the world. He was right.”

He was telling the truth. She knew it. What she didn’t know was why he was in her house and not in jail. She hung up the phone. “Who are you? And I don’t mean your name.”

“Tristan Sinclair. ATF agent. I was working undercover the day we ran into each other.”

ATF? It made sense. A sick, crazy kind of sense. “Ran into each other? You kidnapped me and pulled me into the biggest illegal firearms raid in a decade.” Something the newscasters had made mention of over and over again as they’d covered the story. Something everyone but Marti seemed to find fascinating.

“I kept you safe until reinforcements could come in and bring you out.”

And he’d saved her life. He didn’t point that out. Brian would have. He would have been announcing his feat to the world, making appointments with television shows and radio programs, planning a book and movie deal, telling Marti again and again how fortunate she was to have him.

“Sorry if I sounded ungrateful. You saved my life, and I really do appreciate it. Thanks.”

“You saved yourself, Sunshine. I just helped a little.”

“And got shot doing it. How’s your arm?”

“Better.”

“Than?”

“Than being dead.” He smiled, but Martha didn’t think Tristan’s potential death was amusing.

“That’s not funny.”

“No, but I’m celebrating survival, so I’m trying to find a lot to smile about.” He smiled again, and some of the tension that had been coiled inside Martha eased. It felt good to be talking to someone who knew what had happened to her and didn’t need to ask questions about it. Someone who had shared her experience and could show her how to put it in perspective.

“I guess if you can smile about it, I can, too.”

“And you should. You’ve got a beautiful smile.” His gaze dropped to her lips, lingered there for a moment before he met her eyes again.

Her cheeks flamed, her heart jumped, and she resisted the urge to smooth her hair, fidget with her dress. She did not need to look good for Tristan Sinclair. Sure, he’d saved her life, but he was still a man. And men were something she’d decided less than a week ago that she could do without.

She needed to keep that in mind, or she might end up exactly where she didn’t want to be—nursing a broken heart and mourning the death of her dreams. Again. It was time to put some distance between herself and Tristan.

“Look, I hate to shove you out, but I’ve got to be at church in less than thirty minutes.”

“Good. Let’s go.” He took her arm, started walking toward the door.

That was easy. A lot easier than Martha had expected it to be. Relieved, she allowed herself to be ushered out the door and down the porch steps.

A cool breeze carried the scent of Tristan’s aftershave. Pine needles and campfire smoke, crisp fall air and winter wind. Everything outdoorsy and good. All the things Marti loved most about God’s creation.

“Thanks again for saving my life, Tristan. I know you said I saved myself, but we both know it’s not true.”

“Do we?” He took the keys from her hand, unlocked the door and carried the key chain with him as he rounded the car.

“Hey! I need those if I’m going to get to church.”

“I know. I’ll give them back to you in a second.” He opened the passenger door, slid into the car and held the keys out to her, a grin easing the hard angles of his face.

Her heart leaped, her brain froze. He was in her car. In. Her. Car. And she had absolutely no idea what to do about it. She leaned in the open door, stared him in the eye, hoping she looked less flustered than she felt. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you get to church in one piece.”

“I’ve been driving to church on my own for years. I’m sure I can manage it today.”

“Unless you run into Johnson.”

“He won’t try anything in the middle of broad daylight when anyone might see him.” At least, she didn’t think he would.

“Sunshine, you don’t know much about men like Johnson. He’s not going to just forget that you saw him Friday, that you heard his name, that you could sit in court and identify him. He and I both saw your name on the card inside your pack. There’s no way he forgot it. He’s going to come after you and he’s not going to wait until it’s dark, or you’re alone, or until some time when it’s convenient for you. He’ll strike when he’s good and ready. For all either of us know, he’s ready now. Until he’s caught, you need to be careful.”

“I know I need to be careful. And I will, but that doesn’t mean having a personal bodyguard.”

“I think it does.” He grabbed her hand, tugged her farther into the car. “And since I took a bullet for you, I think I should have some say in these things.”

“I can’t believe you’re using that against me after you said I saved my own life.”

“Whatever works, Sunshine.” He tugged hard, and she almost tumbled across the seat and into his lap.

“It’s Marti, not Sunshine.” She muttered the words as she pulled away from his grip and settled into the driver’s seat.

“Right. Martha Darlene Gabler. Born September 18. Twenty-eight years old. Two and a half years of college. Working as a veterinary technician at Lakeview Veterinary Clinic. Recently engaged. Even more recently no longer engaged.”

“I’m not even surprised you know all that about me.”

“There’s more.”

“Of course there’s more. Since I know myself pretty well, and you now seem to know everything about me, let’s save some time and not rehash all the details of my boring life.”

“Who said anything about boring?”

“Compared to yours—”

“Why would you? Compare your life to mine, I mean?” He watched her with those striking eyes, leaning toward her, his body language, his posture saying he was really listening. That he really wanted to hear what she had to say.

Which was, of course, part of the courting game and meant absolutely nothing.

Courting?

As if.

Men like Tristan Sinclair did not notice women like Marti, let alone court them.

“I’m not comparing. I’m just saying that my life is pretty mundane and yours…well, yours isn’t.”

“I’ve got news for you, Marti. Your life is anything but mundane right now. And, by the time this is all over, you’re going to be wishing for boring.” The words were a grim reminder that Gordon Johnson was free, and Marti’s hands tightened into fists around the steering wheel.

“You really think Johnson is coming after me?”

“I don’t think it. I know it. Johnson is a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. He knows you’re bound to be the state’s key witness against Buddy and him. He’s going to make it his goal to keep you from testifying.”

“That’s not very comforting.”

“Good. The less comfortable you are, the happier I’ll be.”

“Gee, thanks.” She shoved the keys in the ignition, but he put a hand over hers before she could start the car.

“Johnson is a cold-blooded killer, Marti. If making you uncomfortable keeps you safe from him, that’s exactly what I want to do.”

“Look, Tristan, I know you’re trying to help, but—”

“I’m not trying to do anything. I’m doing it.” He squeezed her hand, the gesture easy and warm. “Now, let’s go. We don’t want to be late.”

She should keep arguing, tell him to get out, remind him that she was a grown woman capable of taking care of herself, but something told her that Tristan Sinclair was not going to be dissuaded and that short of getting out and walking to church, Marti had no choice but to accept her unwanted passenger.

Or maybe not so unwanted.

The fact was, having Tristan around didn’t seem like such a bad thing. As she pulled up her long driveway, she imagined a million eyes watching from the woods that lined the street, a million dangers lurking just out of sight. Silly, she knew, but as real as the air she was breathing. Anyone could be hiding in the thick fall foliage, ready to jump in front of the car, shoot out a tire, force her to a stop. And if that anyone happened to be Gordon Johnson, Marti figured that having Tristan in her car might not be such a bad idea after all.

SIX

Chocolate. Cinnamon. The warmth of family mixed with the cool, crisp fall breeze.

Tristan had smelled more exotic perfumes, but none had tugged at his awareness the way Martha’s scent did. It hovered around her as he escorted her through the church parking lot and made him want to inhale, to hold the fragrance deep in his lungs, let it fill the part of him that had been emptied during the months he’d worked undercover.

A time of renewal.

He needed that as much as he needed to get the cast off his arm and get himself back into working shape.

“I’ll be fine from here.” Marti spoke quietly as they approached the church’s open front door. It seemed she actually thought he was going to leave her there.

“I know, but I think I’ll join you anyway.”

“You might want to rethink that. I’m planning to volunteer in the toddler nursery.” They might not need her there, but at least closed in the nursery, Martha knew she could avoid the questions her women’s Sunday School class was bound to ask.

“And you think that will scare me away?”

“I’ve seen lesser men felled by the prospect.”

Tristan laughed, the sound dry and a little harsh. It had been a while since he’d found anything to be truly amused about. Life as Sky Davis hadn’t been something to laugh at. “Good thing I’m not lesser men.”

She leaned back, giving him a slow appraising look that was more joke than flirtation. “Yes, it is.”

He laughed again, hooking his good arm around her waist and tugging her the last few feet to the church door. “Thanks for the laugh, Sunshine.”

“Thanks for playing bodyguard. Of course you know that as soon as church is over, I’m sending you on your way.”

“I know you’ll try.”

“Martha!” The strident male voice greeted them as they stepped into the building. The speaker, a lean blonde with hard eyes and a weak jaw, hurried toward them, his gaze on Martha. “I’ve been trying to call you all weekend.”

Marti stiffened as he approached, but her smile was pleasant. Unless Tristan missed his guess, this was the fiancé. The ex-fiancé.

“Yes. I know.”

“And you didn’t think it necessary to answer the phone, or to return the calls?”

“A lot of people were calling me, Brian. I couldn’t get to everyone.”

Brian. Yep, the ex-fiancé.

“If you organized your time better that wouldn’t be a problem. What you should have done was make a list and—”

“Prioritize. Yes, Brian. I know. Fortunately, that’s not something you need to concern yourself about anymore.” Marti smiled again, her teeth gritted in an obvious effort to keep from saying something she’d regret.

Tristan had no such compunction. “I’m sure you did prioritize, Sunshine. There’s no doubt in my mind you managed to contact the people who warranted it.”

Brian frowned, seeming to notice Tristan for the first time since the conversation had begun. His dark gaze dropped to the arm Tristan had wrapped around Marti’s waist, his frown deepening. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“You’re right. We haven’t. I’m Tristan Sinclair.” He offered his hand, not surprised that Brian put a little too much strength in the shake. He was a man who seemed determined to be the top dog. Unfortunately, he was probably closer to being the runt of the litter.

“Brian McMath. Martha’s good friend.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call us friends, Brian.”

“Of course we’re friends. Just because we broke up doesn’t mean we don’t still care about each other. As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking that we could—”

“Don’t we need to get to the nursery?” Tristan cut off what threatened to be a long-winded attempt to win Martha back.

“Yes, we do. Nice seeing you, Brian.” Martha moved away, and Tristan started to follow only to be pulled up short by Brian’s hand on his shoulder.

“I think we need to talk.”

“Do you?” Tristan eyed the other man, wondering what Martha had seen in him. Obviously he had an overblown sense of importance and a penchant for cutting people down.

“You may not know this, but Martha and I were engaged.”

“I’d heard talk of it.” While Tristan lay in a hospital bed recovering from surgery on his arm, his brother Grayson had spent the previous day gathering information. A Lakeview local who’d transplanted from their childhood home in Forest, Virginia, Grayson was a lawyer and good at getting the information he wanted.

“Good. Then you’ll understand my concern. She’s vulnerable right now. It’s going to take her a while to get over our breakup.”

“I heard Martha broke up with you. I doubt it’ll take her long to recover from that.”

Brian’s face went scarlet and his eyes flashed. “No one broke up with anyone. It was a mutual decision.”

“If that’s the way you want to see it.” Tristan didn’t know why he felt the urge to needle the man. Sure, the guy was arrogant, but most of the time Tristan ignored people like him. Then again, most of the time, he didn’t have to deal with arrogant jerks masquerading as caring Christians.

“Look, my point is that Martha needs time to recover from everything that’s happened to her. A relationship at this point would only be a rebound reaction to her loss. It’s probably best if you give her some space.”

Space? Not likely. At least, not until Johnson was found. “I think I’ll let her tell me that. If you’ll excuse me, I promised to help her this morning.” He strode away before McMath could respond, just catching sight of Martha’s deep blue dress as she hurried into a room at the end of the hall.

Tristan followed, peering into the nursery and grimacing as he caught sight of his worst nightmare—fifteen kids the size of peanuts waddling around crying, giggling and babbling. Cute, but dangerous. He’d learned that the hard way on more than one occasion.

He stepped inside, closing the door firmly behind him. Three women eyed him with curiosity. The fourth studiously avoided glancing in his direction. Too bad. He wouldn’t mind getting another look in Martha’s gold-green eyes.

“Ladies.” He tipped his head in greeting and used his good arm to lift a rambunctious little girl from the floor. The angelic-looking kid gave him an impish grin and popped him in the nose. “Hey, that hurt!”

“Better watch out for that one. She’s got a reputation for making boys cry.” An older lady with salt-and-pepper hair and amused blue eyes pulled the little girl from his arm. “I’m Anna Patrick.”

“Tristan Sinclair.”

“Nice to meet you, Tristan, but I don’t think you’re on the nursery roster for this morning.”

“I’m with Martha.”

“With Martha?” Anna and the other women glanced in Martha’s direction.

Martha’s face went three shades of red, but she managed a smile. “We’re…friends. Tristan offered to lend a hand in here today.”

“A hand is right.” A thirty-something blond woman with bright brown eyes and a quick smile gestured to Tristan’s sling. “You’re going to have a hard time with only one hand. This is a busy bunch of kids.”

“He looks like the kind of guy who can handle anything.” A sharp-faced brunette eyed Tristan from a rocking chair across the room. He recognized the interest in her gaze, the sharp gleam of a huntress on the prowl. He’d met plenty of women like her, had even dated a few. But women like her weren’t what he was looking for. Not anymore. Now, he thought he might like to find someone more solid, more down-to-earth.

More like…well, Martha.

There. It was out. A truth he’d been avoiding since he’d awakened after surgery on his arm. Martha had been the first one he’d thought of. The only one he’d really wanted to see. Sure, he’d made conversation with his parents, his brothers and sister, the doctors and nurses and coworkers who’d been a streaming distraction while he lay in the hospital bed, but it had been Martha he’d wondered about. Martha he’d pictured over and over again. Gold-green eyes, wild curls. Strength and determination, wrapped up in a very attractive package. Thinking about Martha, wondering how she’d fared after the raid, had provided Tristan with more of a distraction than any of his visitors. Much as he might tell himself he was here to catch Johnson, the truth was a little more complicated. Sure, he wanted to stop Johnson, but he also wanted to keep Martha safe.

And get to know her.

No matter how bad of an idea it might be.

And it was a bad idea. The life he led didn’t lend itself to family. It was stressful and hard. Not just on the men and women who worked the job, but on their families, as well.

“Why don’t you come have a seat in one of the rocking chairs.” The brunette waved him over. “You can tell us how you and Martha met.”

“Thanks, but I’ve had a few too many days of forced rest. I think I’ll stand for a while.”

“Did you break your arm?” The brunette didn’t seem to be getting the hint that Tristan wasn’t interested, and Martha seemed determined to ignore them both rather than join in the conversation.

“Yes.” He didn’t add that a bullet had shattered the bone and that rods and pins were currently keeping things in place.

“You’re probably one of those extreme-sports junkies. Skydiving. Snowboarding. That kind of stuff.”

“Actually, I prefer long hikes in the mountains.” He crossed the room and knelt on the floor next to Martha who was building a block tower with one of the toddlers.

She met his gaze, acknowledging his comment with a smile. There were freckles on her nose and cheeks that he’d noticed the first time he’d seen her. Cute freckles to go with the curls that were escaping the sleek hairstyle she’d managed.

“What?” She brushed a hand down her cheek. “Is there something on my face?”

“Just freckles.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t remind me. They were the bane of my elementary-school years. Jeremiah Bentley used to call me Paint Splatter. Eventually that was shortened to Splat.”

“Jeremiah must have had a serious crush on you.”

“Jeremiah was a pest. Until tenth grade. Then he was captain of the football team. At that point I decided it was better to have him call me Splat than to not have him call me at all.”

He chuckled, pulling a little boy away from another child’s toy. “Captain of the football team, huh? And you were what? Head cheerleader?”

“Cheerleader? Hardly. I was more likely to be hiking through the woods than dancing and flipping in front of a crowd.” Martha didn’t add what she was thinking—that she’d never been one of the popular crowd, and that growing up without a mother had made it difficult to figure out the kind of girlie things that were so valued in high school. Makeup, hair, clothes. She’d learned them all by trial and error. And, she had to admit, there’d been a lot more error than success.

“Martha, a cheerleader? You don’t know how funny that is.” Jenny Gardner brushed a thick wave of dark hair from her forehead and stood, moving across the room, her hips swaying in her perfectly fitting knee-length skirt. She looked good and she knew it. But then, Jenny had never had a bad hair day in her life. Or at least, not in the fifteen years Martha had known her.

“Funny? Why?”

Of course, Tristan had to ask, and, of course, Jenny was more than willing to answer. Martha had seen the way she’d been eyeing the man in their midst. Like a chocoholic at a candy buffet.

“Martha was a science geek. Always outside traipsing around in the forest, coming into school with twigs and leaves in her hair, mud from feet to knees. I don’t think she’d have ever cleaned up enough to be in a cheerleader uniform.”

“A science geek, huh?” Tristan met Marti’s gaze, his eyes bright blue and assessing, scanning her face, touching on the freckles that she had always hated. Under his intense but clearly approving stare, they didn’t seem quite so bad.

“Half the time the poor dear looked more like a guy than a girl with her baggy pants and hooded sweatshirts.”

Martha’s cheeks heated, but she refused to be pulled into Jenny’s grade-school behavior. Sure, she’d been a geek, but that was years ago. Now she was an accomplished, confident adult. Really. She was. “That was a long time ago, Jenny.”

“True, but you still do love to wander around in the woods. That is how you ended up involved in that…incident…Friday, isn’t it?”

“Incident? Marti could have been killed! I’d call that a little more than an incident.” Anna jumped into the conversation, and Martha let her take over. She was too tired to go a verbal round with Jenny.

Martha stood, brushing off her dress. Deep sapphire blue, it had been a spur-of-the-moment purchase. One she’d regretted immediately. Brian had liked it, of course. The slim-fitting sheath had an air of sophistication that made her seem almost elegant. Almost.

And that was the problem. No matter how hard she tried, she could never measure up to women like Jenny who oozed style from every pore. In her opinion, it was better not to try at all than to end up looking like a want-to-be-fashionista.

She sighed, gently tugged a toddler from the nursery door. Why she was even thinking about her lack of style, she didn’t know. She’d accepted herself for who she was long ago and didn’t bother making apologies for it. So she liked to hike and camp more than she liked to shop for clothes. Was that a crime?

“You and I have a lot in common.” Tristan moved up beside her, a pigtailed little girl in his arm.

“Do we?”

“I was a science geek, too.”

“You? No way.” She laughed, sure he only said that because he thought Jenny’s comments had bothered her. They hadn’t. Much.

“I was president of the science club three years running.”

“Not four?”

“I would have been, but Sheryl Greeson wanted the position and I decided she could have it.”

“She was cute?”

“Beautiful. And smart. Of course, she only had eyes for the captain of the football team. I wound up going to the prom with a cheerleader who had a thing for geeks.”

She doubted it was Tristan’s “geekiness” that had appealed to his prom date. “Well, I can one-up you on that. I didn’t go to the prom.”

The words slipped out before she thought them through, and she winced. She’d made herself seem pathetic.

Before she could try to rectify the error, Jenny spoke up. “Marti was too busy working. She was always one of those goody-goody daddy-girls. Too busy helping out at her father’s store to cut loose and have a little fun.”

“Some kids have to work, Jenny. That’s just the way it is.”

Cries filled the room as one toddler after another decided to take up a chorus of tears. Much as Marti hated to hear them cry, at least the sound kept Jenny from commenting further.

Or Marti from saying anything else that might give Tristan the idea that she’d been a pitifully awkward teen.

Not that it mattered what ideas he had. She’d dated enough to know that she didn’t want to waste more of her time mooning over a man. She’d been engaged long enough to know that it wasn’t worth the hassle. No, from this point forward, she was man free and happy about it.

Tristan caught her eye as she scooped up one of the criers and smiled the kind of smile meant to melt female hearts. Marti’s heart didn’t melt, though. Maybe it softened a little, but it definitely didn’t melt.