Night Mist. Helen Myers R.
She dropped the offensive rag into the plastic-lined wastebasket and examined the wound. On a small woman or child the cut would have been critical, but on a man of Jay Barnes’s tall if lanky size it was slightly less severe. Barely medium height herself, she could tuck herself comfortably under his sharp chin. Not that she had any desire to be there, she amended hastily. She’d just thought that if Joe had stood completely straight, he would be close to that height, too.
Disturbed by her wayward thoughts, she retrieved her bag. “How’d this happen?”
“Working.”
“From what I’ve seen of it, Mr. Beauchamp’s establishment is a disaster waiting to happen.” Rachel felt him stiffen and glanced up. His expression, if possible, turned more wary than before. Could he suspect her of spying on him? “It’s a small town,” she said, shrugging. “And you must have figured out by now that our landlady is something of a clearinghouse for all the gossip.”
“Don’t remind me.” Permanent frown lines bisected his straight, stark eyebrows. “So, she mentioned where I worked when she gave you the offical tour of this firetrap?”
His smooth delivery didn’t fool her. She could feel tension radiating from him in powerful waves. It made her own overworked nerves feel like gelatin in an earthquake. “She spoke about everyone.”
Rachel took a sample tube of antibacterial soap out of her bag. “It’s going to sting like crazy, but I need to get the grit washed out of there.” To fill the pulsating silence that followed, she said, “I understand you moved in only a short time before I did?”
He grunted from behind compressed lips.
“Well, that’s what Adorabella, Mrs. Levieux, told me. But I, um, I don’t quite remember where she said you were from?”
“Here and there.”
The response, through gritted teeth, could have been a reaction to her work, but Rachel had a hunch it was also a result of another kind of probing. “Really? I enjoy moving around myself. Ever been to Virginia?”
He shook his head.
“That’s where I’m from.”
“Good for you.”
Resemblance or no resemblance, no way he and Joe Becket could be the same man, Rachel thought, repressing a grimace at his continuing rudeness. Jay Barnes acted as though having to be near her was more painful than his hand! And the way he glared…it was a wonder her face wasn’t singed from all his searing looks. What did he think she was going to do? she brooded, tugging a few tissues from the dispenser. Stab him with the tube of soap or something?
Who was he and what was going on?
Listen to yourself. One minute she was thinking about the viability of ghosts and the next she was weaving her own dark mystery, all because a withdrawn and more than slightly abrupt neighbor bore a striking resemblance to someone whose blood was, then wasn’t, on her hands? Get a grip, Gentry. Your sense of reality is slipping. Fast.
“I think that’s as dry as it’s going to get.”
The terse observation made Rachel stop, look and almost groan. Lost in her thoughts, she’d lingered too long over dabbing away the water from the wound. Embarrassed, she tossed the tissues into the trash and dug in her bag for the ointment and the rest of the things she needed.
All she needed was for the man to think she was coming on to him. With a build like his, he probably got more propositions than he knew what to do with, especially if he spent a lot of time walking around in nothing more than unsnapped jeans. “Sorry,” she muttered, “it’s been a long day.”
He didn’t bother replying.
Creep. Maybe he had the physique to turn heads, but he needed a personality transplant to be regarded as human.
For an instant, a shameful instant, she almost wished he and Joe Becket could change places. Why was it always the good ones who got hurt the worst? But as quickly as the thought came, she was overwhelmed with self-disgust.
“This won’t sting. In fact, it’s quite soothing.” As she spoke, she turned back to him and accidentally bumped into his rock-hard bicep. The tube went flying out of her grasp.
Jay Barnes’s face was a granite mask as he bent to retrieve it. “Are you sure you’re a doctor?”
“Would I be toting this thing around if I wasn’t?” she replied, gesturing to her bag.
“Who the hell knows. In any case, you’re the clumsiest, edgiest one I’ve ever met.”
“I’m surprised you’ve known any,” she shot back. “In fact, I’ve about come to the conclusion that you’re the type to cauterize your wounds over a flame to prove you’re tough and don’t need anyone.”
“At least I don’t put my patients through small-talk hell.”
“Listen to who’s criticizing—Mr. Personality.”
After a slight pause, he replied, “I guess I don’t have any room to complain.”
His quiet response not only surprised her, it made her uneasy. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but for a moment he almost sounded like…No, she told herself, smoothing ointment on the cut. She wouldn’t start that again. “Look, I, um, I’ve been under considerable stress lately.”
“Did it have anything to do with the strange way you behaved when you walked home tonight?”
Her hands shook slightly as she opened a gauze pad and secured it in place with more gauze. “I thought I saw you watching me,” she said, when she could control her voice. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s impolite to spy on other people?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Meaning?”
Indignation made her braver, just as it made her fingers more efficient. “It’s probably residual guilt over all the people you’ve fried with your acidic tongue.”
“Wrong. Unlike you, most people take the hint when I make it clear I want to be left alone.”
“Take heart, Mr. Barnes,” she replied, having had enough of this foolishness. “As soon as I finish this, you can go back to your precious privacy with my wholehearted approval.”
She worked quickly and without mishap after that, despite being acutely aware of his gaze following her every move. Only when she secured the gauze with a last piece of tape did he break the lengthy silence.
“So, what upset you out there?”
Although outwardly casual, something about the repeated question from a man who had no use for small talk had Rachel’s antenna going up again. She decided this time it wouldn’t be wise to meet his intense eyes. As it was, they seemed to have X-ray abilities. “Nothing much. I spook easily, that’s all.”
“People who do don’t usually walk home from work at 2:00 a.m.”
“They do if they don’t own a car,” she countered, hoping he’d been awake those times when Cleo had given her a ride. The less she had to explain, the sooner she could change the subject.
But he didn’t mention Cleo, or other sightings, seeming interested only in tonight. “It sounded as though the last truck that passed you on the bridge came close to hitting you. Or was there something else?”
She was grateful they were no longer in physical contact, and focused on replacing her things in her bag. “What do you mean?”
“Last week somebody lost a wooden pallet off a flatbed trailer and it messed up a truck’s tires before the driver saw it. There’ve been more than a few animals getting run over up there, too. The fog’s treacherous.”
“Yes…and