Nobody's Hero

CHAPTER TWO

SEAN SURRENDERED WITH his hands up. “Uh, hey. It’s not what you think.”

“Pippa?” the woman called. “Pippa, are you all right?” She aimed a finger at Sean before heading toward the overgrown trail. “Don’t you dare move. I want to talk to you.”

Sean remained frozen. She said talk the way his mother used to, when he and his brothers had been raising hell in the neighborhood and she’d resorted to threatening them with a talk from their father. The talk was usually a scolding, sometimes followed by a licking when the crime had been particularly heinous.

The girl had reappeared. “Jeez, Mom. Why are you yelling?”

So her name’s Pippa, Sean thought, but his gaze was on the mother. With the wild red hair and the fighting attitude, she was the spitting image of her daughter. Except that the chubbiness around Pippa’s middle had migrated in different directions in the mother, giving her an hourglass figure on a petite frame.

The woman gripped her daughter’s shoulders. She bent to stare into the child’s downcast eyes. “Are you okay, Pippa? Did this man try to hurt you?”

Pippa looked up with an owl-eyed blink. Her lower lip stuck out. “No, Mom.”

“We only talked,” Sean said.

“You talked?” The mother wheeled on him. “What are you doing, talking to a ten-year-old girl in the middle of nowhere? There’s something fishy going on here.” She looked ready to tear his head off with her hands, but she swallowed hard and turned back toward her child. “I’m warning you right now, buster. Stay away from my daughter.”

“That’s fine.” Sean flicked his chin toward the girl. “You be sure to tell her to keep away from me, too.”

The mother had Pippa in a headlock, crushed to her bosom. She threw him a look. “You can bet on that. And I’ll also be talking to the Jonesport police about strange men who prowl the woods looking for…” She snorted. “Conversation.”

Sean was running short on patience, but he jammed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and retreated a few steps so he wouldn’t appear threatening. “I only followed her because—”

“Then you admit it.” The mother clutched Pippa even tighter before abruptly releasing her. “Run up to the house now, Pip. I’ll be along in a minute.”

Pippa hesitated, grimacing as if she wanted to speak up. “Okay,” she finally whispered, then turned and ran off.

The mother advanced on Sean, her hands clenched and her chest heaving. He couldn’t help admire her ferocity, even if it was directed at him. He was Irish; he liked a woman with spirit. And the flaming hair didn’t hurt, either.

“Do I get to explain before I’m condemned?” he asked.

She tossed her head back. “Go ahead. Try and worm your way out of it. I know what I saw—you creeping after my little girl, glancing around to be sure no one was watching.”

He supposed he might have appeared furtive, although he was positive he hadn’t crept. “I followed her only to see that she got home safely. I swear on my honor, that’s all there was to it. No harm intended.”

“Right.” The woman folded her arms, regarding him skeptically. “And what about the ‘talk’?”

“I caught her following me through the woods. She was lurking around my cottage, too, yesterday and this morning.”

The woman’s eyes flickered, betraying the slightest hesitation. “I’m sure. So you’re blaming the victim?”

“There’s no victim here. You keep your daughter away from me, and I’ll stay away from her.”

“You’re claiming that Pippa was at your house?” She shook her head. “I don’t believe it. Why would my girl be interested in you?”

“How should I know? You’re her mother.”

She frowned.

“Maybe it was some kind of game.”

“I…” The woman drew in a breath, lifting her chin an inch higher. She couldn’t have been taller than five-two, at least ten inches shorter than Sean. “I’ll speak to her.”

He nodded. “Good.”

Her mouth thinned. “That doesn’t mean I believe you.”

“You don’t have to, as long as your daughter tells the truth.”

“Pippa doesn’t lie to me.”

Sean hoped not. “If you want me…” to apologize for your tirade, perhaps “…I’m staying on the west side, at Pine Cone Cottage, just off Shore Road.”

“Wonderful.”

She offered only the one sarcastic word, with no name, so he nodded and walked away, certain they’d meet again. Presumably under better circumstances. Osprey was, after all, a very small island.

CONNIE WAITED UNTIL they were seated at the dining table with their lunch—toasted cheese and tomato sandwiches—before she started in with the inquisition. Pippa was expecting it, and took a huge bite when her mother said, “All right. Tell me what happened.”

“Mmph, mouth’s full.”

“I’ll wait.” Connie speared a dill pickle out of the jar. The juice speckled the table’s watermarked wood surface, and she swiped it up with a paper napkin.

The Sheffields had installed Connie and her daughter in a somewhat ramshackle, long-forgotten guesthouse, as all the bedrooms in the main home were reserved for their VIP guests. Small and dark, the cedar-shingle house was hidden out of sight, in the woods not far from the front gate. The accommodations were summer-camp rustic, with thin, sagging mattresses, balky plumbing and flyspecked screens, but the privacy was wonderful. Constant exposure to the Sheffields worked Connie’s last nerve. Anders Sheffield was an entitled snob with morality issues, and the lady of the manor was too unsure of herself to give him the boot up the butt that he deserved.

Connie had thought that the guesthouse setup was ideal. She’d be close enough to keep an eye on her daughter, even while she worked. It appeared she’d been wrong.

Pippa swallowed and went in for a second bite.

“Pippa.”

She put the sandwich down. “Yes, Mom?”

“Were you at that man’s house?” Connie was certain about one thing—her daughter wouldn’t lie. Pippa’s good conscience and the tendency to blush beet-red had always given her away. She’d learned not to even try.

“Not in it,” Pippa said. “But I was nearby.”

“Did you follow him?”

Her daughter’s face was inching toward her plate as her shoulders caved inward. Gradually, over the past several years, Pippa had become more secretive and self-contained. Emotional conflict bothered her. She’d picked up the habit of cowering whenever she couldn’t physically retreat.

“I guess so,” Pippa whispered.

Connie winced, remembering the accusations she’d flung at the stranger. “Why?”

“I was observing him.”