Three Little Words

She prodded for more information. “I still don’t remember you, though, Mr. Reed.”

“Connor,” he said. He glanced over her, up and down, making her toes flex inside conservative Payless pumps. “I’m older than you—we wouldn’t have connected when I was ten and you were…still in diapers?”

She doubted there was that much of an age difference, even though he had a sort of weary, haunted look about him that made him seem…well, not old exactly, but sort of cynical and worn out. “I’m thirty-two.”

“Thirty-nine.”

Okay, he had a point. She wasn’t hanging out at the lighthouse when she was three. He might even be telling the truth about visiting his grandfather, except that she doubted he was telling all of it.

Unless her suspicion was only her vivid imagination run amok. Which, admittedly, wasn’t all that infrequent an occurrence. It was fortunate she usually kept her fancies to herself. Outwardly, she was as regular as a metronome.

“Now that we’ve established my provenance,” Connor said with a small twitch of one corner of his mouth. The hollows in his cheeks deepened. He was trying not to smile at her.

Not used to being found amusing, Tess elongated her neck, tilting her head back. She was short; imperious was a stretch, but she tried. “Yes?”

He sobered. “I have a favor to ask you. Or—well, not really a favor. It can be a job. I’d pay for your time.”

She felt her eyes widen. He wanted her to help him load bear gallbladders off Gull Rock when she could barely stand to handle raw chicken giblets? Certainly not. She almost chuckled at the thought, before remembering that she was being ridiculous with her farfetched imaginings and really must stop.

Right now.

“I saw you with the children, reading, teaching…so I wondered, if it’s not an imposition—” Connor’s gaze held steady even if his words were hesitant “—whether you might be willing to teach…”

Teach him how to read?

Tess tried not to look shocked. Suddenly all the little details made sense. The way he’d concentrated on the lighthouse illustrations and not the text. How he hadn’t taken any notes. The intent look on his face when he’d watched her storytelling group. She’d taken it for his natural demeanor, but it might have been fierce concentration. Exactly the way Grady Kujanen concentrated on sounding out a new word.

Heavens. And here she’d pegged Connor Reed as a former professor gone bad. She couldn’t have been more wrong!

“Of course I’ll teach you how to read,” she said, stepping in with a reassuring squeeze of his arm when he continued to hesitate over the request.

His eyes flashed. “Teach me?”

CHAPTER TWO

AT CONNOR’S OBVIOUS surprise, the librarian’s chin came down and she leaned closer, exuding warmth and understanding. “Trust me, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. There are so many people like you, from all walks of life. I commend your courage in coming forward, really I do. This is your turning point. One day, you’ll look back and—”

Suddenly she stopped the stream of platitudes, her mouth hanging open. Must have finally read his face.

“It’s not me,” he said.

She had clasped his hands with encouragement, but now she let go. “Would it be…” long pause “…a close friend?”

“My grandfather.” There it was, baldly. Connor hoped Sonny wouldn’t kill him for involving a third party. The librarian seemed kind, and possibly discreet. She’d certainly been surreptitious about checking him out. But not sneaky enough, because he’d noticed every one of her shy glances and speculative stares.

At first he’d noticed because she was an attractive woman, small and cute as a chipping sparrow, with bright eyes and darting hands and a shiny cap of copper hair. Then he’d realized that it was possible she’d recognized him as an infamous quasi celebrity.

He’d come to hate when that happened. Over and over again, he’d suffered the lingering stares, the double takes. Eyes widened with recognition, hands slapped over mouths. That’s Connor Reed. The man who set the killer free. I’ve seen him on the news. Despicable! He should be ashamed.

He’d put up with it through the hearings and the aftermath, but now that it was over—or so he hoped—he’d known he had to get away. So he’d run. As far as he could.

Alouette, Michigan, a small outpost on the far northern border of the country, seemed to qualify as the ends of the earth. As he’d remembered from a few brief vacations at the lighthouse, people here were friendly but not intrusive. They’d gossip among themselves about Connor’s culpability in the Strange case, but they wouldn’t pillory him. Not in public, anyway. Even so, he planned to keep his head low.

The librarian was nodding. “Uh-huh. Your grandfather. Well. There are literacy programs that will help. I can put you in touch with a teacher who—”

“No. Sonny wouldn’t want a program. Nothing official.” As it was, Sonny would probably object to Tess Bucek, even on her own. He’d asked Connor to teach him to read—only Connor.

The librarian blinked. “Why me?”

Connor scrubbed a hand over his jaw. He was dead tired from a day and a half on the road—New York City to small-town Michigan in one shot—from one extreme to another in thirty-some hours. He’d gone first to visit Sonny at the nursing home, then drove into Alouette for a look at the old lighthouse, since that was all his grandfather had talked about.

Stopping at the library had been a sudden whim. A few books on lighthouses seemed like a good way to get his grandfather started. Connor had soon figured out that he didn’t know the first thing about teaching a stubborn, crotchety old man to read. He’d been about to leave, when Tess’s voice had drawn him over to the children’s area.

Voices, rather. He’d watched long enough to see that while she had the verve to entrance the kids with her storytelling ability, she was also a patient and easy teacher. If anyone could charm Old Man Mitchell into proper reading lessons, it was Tess Bucek.

She was waiting for his answer.

“Why?” Connor shrugged. “I saw you with the kids. You seem to have a talent. And my grandfather’s a special case…”

“A hard case, I expect.” There was irony in her voice, but her gaze flickered uncertainly. Her eyes were green, not bright, but soft, like moss.

She’d do. “I can’t deny it,” Connor said.

“You need someone qualified to evaluate your grandfather’s reading level, at the very least. I do have a little bit of experience and a minor in education, but I’m no expert.”

“Exactly why I chose you.” Connor didn’t want to come right out and say that his grandfather wasn’t expecting a teacher and wouldn’t welcome one. If the first introduction was unofficial, a friendly how-d’ya-do, Tess could ease herself into the old man’s graces—it would be a stretch calling them good—and begin to work her magic. For all his gruffness, Sonny Mitchell had a soft spot for any female with a soothing voice and nice legs. Tess’s were…

Connor looked down. A canary-yellow skirt stopped an inch above her knees. Cute kneecaps. Curvy calves. Slim ankles. Tess Bucek’s legs were more than acceptable.

Her head lowered, following the direction of his gaze. She tapped her toe. “You chose me for my shoes?”

“Uh, no.” Connor looked up, his gaze colliding with hers. Her lashes were a pale reddish brown that gave her eyes a wide-awake, innocent-schoolgirl look. He had to remind himself that she was thirty-two. She seemed…untouched. Unmarred.

Especially by the likes of him.

He offered another useless shrug. “I’m going on instinct. You seem like the right person for the job. My grandfather can be difficult.”

“I know. I remember, or at least I remember his reputation.” Tess hesitated. “Maybe you should tell me more about him.”

“Not a lot to tell. He’s led a simple life. He was the oldest son of Cornish immigrants. Worked since he was eleven—any job he could get, but primarily in the iron mines. So his schooling took a back seat, I guess. Eventually he landed the job as lighthouse keeper and it stuck.”

“You know, I never knew he was married. To me, he was always Old Man Mitchell, living alone at Gull Rock.”

“Yup, he was married for more than thirty years. He and Grandma had one daughter—my mother. She was the one who sent me to live with Sonny for those first few summers after Grandma died. She hoped I’d keep the old man company.”

“Did you?”

“Pretty much had to. There wasn’t a lot to do at the lighthouse but talk. Or in Alouette, as I remember it.”