Three Little Words

“We manage to find ways to amuse ourselves.” Tess blushed pink when Connor lifted his brows at that. She rushed on. “Where did your grandfather go when the state shut down the lighthouse?”

“My parents wanted him to live with them downstate. Sonny wasn’t too happy about being away from the big lake, but he settled in eventually. He was satisfied until the past few years, when he started in about returning to his roots, before he…”

Connor winced at the surprising amount of regret he felt, thinking of the short time his grandfather had left. He should have made a stronger effort to visit instead of giving up so much of himself to his work. What had that got him except trouble?

Even the loss of his reputation and, it seemed, his will to write were put into perspective now that he was losing Sonny, too.

Connor took a breath. “Sonny’s health isn’t good. He’s eighty-nine. He wanted to come home.” To die.

Tess’s expression was troubled. “He’s eighty-nine and now he wants to learn how to read?”

“What can I say? This is his last chance to amend old regrets.” Always a good idea, Connor told himself. And sooner was better than later, if only there was a way….

Tess’s quiet voice filtered through his black thoughts, defusing the gloom. “This is your grandfather’s dying wish, isn’t it?” She had her soft hands on his again, pressing lightly, sweet with concern. “I’m so sorry.”

Connor nodded.

Her lashes batted away a sheen of moisture. “Then I’ll do what I can to help.”

“Thank you,” he said, his throat gone raw with the emotions he kept swallowing down. Struck by her empathy, he had an odd impulse to give her a hug, but it had been too long since he’d engaged in a normal relationship. He’d buried his emotions deep. Lost the ability to connect.

So he shook Tess’s hand instead.

Sounds came from the foyer, breaking them apart. A man walked into the library, a tall guy with clipped brown hair and a healthy, vigorous air. He was dressed in a sweat-stained T-shirt, faded jeans and work boots. His handsome, all-American face lit up when he saw Tess. “Hey, Marian. Thanks for calling me.”

“Evan. Hello. Lucy’s waiting—”

The slight blond girl that Connor had forgotten about emerged from the children’s reading room. “Hi, Daddy. May I check out three books today, please?” Her voice was so soft it was barely audible.

The tall guy knelt to look at the storybooks she held out. “Jeez, Luce, I don’t know. Are you going to make me read all of them to you tonight?”

The girl nodded, smiling hopefully.

Her father sighed. “Oh, all right. Give them to Miss Bucek so she can check them out for you.” He rose, looking at Connor with open curiosity. Maybe because all strangers were suspect in a small town, maybe because Evan had seen him on TV or in print. Or it could have been because Connor’s expression had changed when he heard that Tess was, beyond any doubt, a miss.

“Evan, this is Connor Reed. He’s in town to visit his grandfather, Sonny Mitchell.” Tess had moved behind the desk and was reaching over to take the books Lucy held up to her. “Sonny’s before your time here, so you wouldn’t know him, but he used to be the lighthouse keeper. Connor spent summers at Gull Rock.”

The tall guy held out his hand. “Evan Grant. Sounds like you were a lucky kid.”

“At the time, I didn’t know how lucky.” The men shook, matching strong grips. Connor’s observational skills were sharp. Since so many people lied to him in the course of his work, he’d learned to recognize subtle signals and body language and make instant character assessments. Most of the time he was right in his judgment. He’d always known that Roderick Strange was guilty, although that certainly hadn’t taken any special skill.

In this instance, it was easy enough to calculate that Evan was a good, honorable, obviously hardworking man. Didn’t mean Connor had to like the guy.

The familiarity between Evan and Tess was clear. Connor didn’t know why that should unsettle him, when he wasn’t even remotely in the market for a girlfriend. Yet the hair on the back of his hand had risen when he’d gripped Evan’s hand, as if the shake had been about taking the measure of an adversary rather than a simple greeting.

Forget it. Tess Bucek seemed like a respectable person. He no longer was, according to his law-and-order critics. And Connor wasn’t sure there was any good reason to refute that opinion.

“Staying in town long?” Evan asked, sliding his gaze from Connor to Tess.

Connor crossed his arms. “Indefinitely.”

“Have you checked in to a hotel?” Tess flipped open a book. “There are only a couple options in Alouette, but if you’re staying in one of the nearby towns—”

Connor cut her off. “I haven’t decided.”

She wasn’t deterred by his shortness. “It’s tourist season, but early yet, so something should be available. There you go, Lucy. All checked out.” Tess handed over the books in a plastic “Great Summer Reading!” drawstring bag. “Will I see you on Monday, sweetie?”

Lucy nodded shyly.

“I’ve got to get back to work,” Evan said. He aimed a casual grin at Tess. “Thanks, Marian.” He nodded at Connor, fixing him with a serious stare, then walked out with his hand resting on his daughter’s thin shoulders.

Connor took the look to mean: Don’t mess with Tess or I’ll cheerfully beat you into the ground like a fence post.

He waited until the pair had cleared the building, then said, “Marian the Librarian, huh?”

“The local theater group did The Music Man a while back. Evan’s just teasing.”

“You’re dating him?”

She paused, wary. “Evan has a daughter. How do you know he’s not married?”

“Hmm. I did notice that he wears a wedding ring.”

Tess nodded, her forehead creasing a little. Concern or dismay? Connor couldn’t be sure. “Ring or not, Evan’s single,” he went on. “Call me sexist, but he wouldn’t be leaving work in the middle of the day to look after his daughter if there was a wife in the picture.”

Tess said softly, “He’s a widower.”

“Tough break. But you didn’t answer my question. Are you dating him?”

Her voice rose a notch to sharpness. “Why don’t you tell me, Quizmaster?”

Connor weighed Evan’s familiarity and protectiveness against the easy departure. “You might have dated at some point, but not currently. Your relationship is more the platonic kind—brother, sister, friends.” A relationship compounded by a good dose of motherly longing, judging by Tess’s gentle way with the girl, but he left that unsaid. It was too personal.

Yeah. Like her love life wasn’t?

“You’re right again.” Tess stacked books briskly; he figured she didn’t like being pigeonholed even though she was a walking endorsement of the friendly, intelligent, proper-librarian stereotype.

The thing was, he knew that everyone was unique beneath the surface. Each person has a story, and secret thoughts and dreams. Each person has justifications for who they are or what they’ve done with their lives. Part of his job as a true-crime writer was digging deeper to find what motives and meanings an ordinary appearance hid.

There was a lot more to Tess Bucek, even if it was tightly bound, but he had no intention of making the what and why of her his business. All he needed to know was that she had a skill for teaching. He’d buy her time, for his grandfather’s sake. But, for your own sake, stay away from the inner her. Don’t delve deeper. Don’t even make friends.

Tess was talking. “…small, spartan stone cottages. Run-down and not very comfortable, I’m afraid. They’re usually only booked by fishermen and hunters.”

Connor nodded as if he’d followed. “Mmm.”

“Maxine’s Cottages,” Tess explained to bring him back to speed. “The clientele is downscale, to be polite. You should try Bay House. It’s a bed-and-breakfast inn up on the hill. It’s undergoing renovation, but they’re still taking guests. If you tell Claire, the manager, I sent you, she might be able to fit you in. Several of their rooms have a view of the lighthouse, although if a rock-bottom price is more important than quality—” Tess’s gaze touched on his unshaven, rumpled appearance “—you might rather go to Maxine’s.”

“Thanks,” Connor said to dismiss talk of accommodations. He supposed he’d have to take a room somewhere. The lighthouse didn’t appear to be habitable. He could camp on the grounds, maybe, if he wanted to spring for a tent and the accompanying gear. The isolation was appealing, but it was too long since he’d roughed it, Upper Peninsula style—which was only for the extremely hardy. At least for tonight, he wanted a real bed.