A Season To Believe. Elane Osborn
pieces to one of the stores that carry her things, and mine sold out right away. So, I made more when I got back to San Francisco, got a few specialty shops to carry them, then participated in a couple of craft fairs this summer, and the thing just mushroomed. Since July I’ve been really busy. I decided to adapt my faces to create special Santas and his little helpers in place of woodland elves and make angels instead of fairies. That’s one of the reasons I was downtown yesterday. I delivered some of these to a place called The Gift Box, and they asked me to make even more.”
“It seems you’ve become quite the businesswoman,” Matt said as he pulled into a parking space overlooking the beach, then added teasingly, “I hope you have someone you trust keeping your books.”
He switched off the engine and turned to Jane.
“I suppose,” she said in a mock huff, “that crack was a veiled reference to my mathematical abilities.”
“No,” Matt said as he opened his door. “It’s a direct reference to your decided lack of said abilities.”
Before Jane could respond to this allusion to what he and Manny had termed her “numerical dyslexia,” Matt slid from his seat and said, “Stay where you are,” before snapping his door shut and stepping around to her side of the car.
“I’ll have you know,” she said the moment he opened her door, “that I have managed to master math. The important stuff, at any rate. I can add, subtract, divide, multiply and figure fractions with the best. The rest is superfluous. The idea of adding a’s and b’s and coming up with x’s is an exercise in futility, if you ask me.”
Matt hooked his hand over the top of the door’s frame, noticing the way Jane’s closed eyes wrinkled as she blindly reached for the buckle of her seat belt. That intense concentration of hers was a wonder to behold. It was the secret, he suspected, behind her swift recovery from the sort of injuries that had kept muscular linebackers out of commission far longer than they had this delicately boned girl.
Woman, he corrected himself when, freed of her seat belt, Jane pivoted toward him, slid out of her seat, then stumbled into his arms.
For the second time in two days Matt found himself holding her close to him. For one moment, he wondered if he could somehow absorb the joy that seemed to emanate from her, even when she was frightened. He had once responded to life that way, too, thrilled by the surge of adrenaline that came with walking the tightrope between safety and danger. He hadn’t experienced that since leaving the hospital.
Until yesterday—when he’d walked into Maxwell’s security office and gone to Jane’s defense.
And now, the idea that Jane had begun to remember, that there was a chance he might solve a crime that had its origins back in the days before Manny died, before he had given up the career he loved, seemed to promise that he could reawaken the passion he’d brought to his old job.
Slowly, as Matt continued to hold Jane, he became aware of the awakening of a different sort of passion, the kind that heated his body, tempted him to tighten his arms around the woman he was holding, to lower his mouth to kiss lips that were still softly parted with surprise.
He just as quickly became aware of how inappropriate it was to feel this way toward the subject of an investigation.
After checking to see that Jane had gained her footing, he released her and stepped back in one quick motion. Instantly, her eyes flew open, surprised and tinged with hurt.
A second later she shut her eyes and muttered, “Sorry,” in a voice more husky than usual.
Damn. Matt’s jaw tightened. Keeping his distance from Jane Ashbury was going to be a challenge, and today it might even prove to be a conflict of interest.
Yesterday he had watched Zoe carefully. Today he’d planned to copy the therapist’s methods, get Jane to relax in the hope that this would release those trapped memories of hers. Something told him that brusquely stepping away from her wasn’t the best way to go about this.
Or keep himself sane.
Chapter Five
“I didn’t see anything,” Jane said. Not sure her tone was light enough, she smiled wryly and said, “Well, other than you.”
A moment of silence followed Jane’s words. Then she heard Matt chuckle before he replied, “Good. But if you had seen the beach, it would have been my fault for not thinking to guide you out of the seat. I’ll do better now.” His hands tightened on her shoulders as he went on. “I need you to step to the left—I’m sorry, that would be your right—so I can close the door.”
Jane responded to his directions, sidestepping, then standing still when he requested. She heard the slam of the door, then the click of the key in the lock, all the while silently cursing herself for feeling so damn vulnerable.
She had to admit, it had felt wonderful, standing within Matt’s strong arms for those few moments, feeling his warmth envelop her, his strength support her. Sometimes she got so blasted tired of taking care of herself, pushing to become a woman of independent means who needed to rely on no one.
Of course, when he’d pushed her away it had become clear that she couldn’t afford to grow accustomed to that sort of feeling.
“Here—” Matt’s deep voice broke into her thoughts. “Take my hand.”
Matt’s fingers had barely brushed hers when she pulled her arm away and said, “I can manage myself.”
“No, you can’t.” Again he chuckled. “You remind me of my two-year-old cousin who’s always insisting, ‘Me do it.’ The path down the beach is uneven. If you don’t want to trip and fall, you’ll let me hold your hand and guide you.”
Jane hesitated. When she nodded, Matt’s large hand closed over hers, gave it a tug, and she began to walk. It took a few moments to focus on the sound of his feet on the sand so she could walk beside him instead of being towed down the path. With each step she grew even more aware of the strength and warmth radiating from the man at her side.
“Do we have far to walk?” she wondered out loud.
“Not really,” he replied. “You all right? Warm enough?”
His question brought Jane’s attention to the brisk breeze ruffling her hair and cooling her cheeks. “Yes, thanks to your suggestion.”
She touched the lapel of her dark blue fleece jacket to indicate her meaning. Matt didn’t reply, and for several minutes the only sound was the crunch of the sand beneath their feet and the occasional crash of a wave some distance in front of her. The silence seemed to beg to be filled, and Jane asked the first question that came to mind.
“Why did Detective Wilcox call you the Lone Ranger yesterday?”
More silence. Then Matt replied, “It was my nickname on the force. Until I was partnered with Manny, I preferred to work on my own whenever possible.”
“Why?”
“Just a quirk of my nature, I guess.”
Jane took a few steps before she said softly, “You miss him a lot, don’t you.”
For several seconds she heard only the sibilant whisper of waves breaking gently on the shore.
“Yeah, I do,” he said quietly, then his voice drew stronger. “Fortunately, my cousin Jack understands how I work. And I understand him. He’s always been drawn to the mystery aspect of law enforcement—tracking down the clues, hence his nickname—Sherlock Holmes—while I like the chase. We make a good team.”
“Do you charge a lot?”
“We try to keep our fees reasonable.”
“How much, exactly? Say, to find a murderer?”
Matt was quiet for a moment. “If you’re thinking of paying me, forget it. I want to find out who tried to kill you