Windswept Way (Hope Harbor #9)(51)
Author: Irene Hannon

 

Heck, it was possible he already had. That he hadn’t been avoiding her at all but instead was slammed trying to coordinate the huge amount of work still to be done by Saturday. For all she knew, he’d forgotten about the incident days ago.

 

She should do the same.

 

Too bad her heart wasn’t listening to that logic.

 

When Jon parked the truck and slid out of the cab near Kyle, his foreman shifted the phone aside, spoke to his boss, and motioned her direction.

 

Forcing up the corners of her mouth, Ashley sidled out of the shadows and raised a hand in greeting.

 

After a moment, he reciprocated. Then he spoke again to Kyle.

 

The other man shook his head and pointed to his phone.

 

Left with no choice, Jon approached her from the other side of the circle garden. As he drew close, the air whooshed out of her lungs.

 

His usual sunglasses were in place, but the scarf and cap were gone, leaving his face on almost full display.

 

Rather than meet him halfway, she gripped the edge of the bannister and held on tight.

 

Don’t stare, Ashley. Be discreet. Don’t do anything to make him feel self-conscious. Steel yourself to however bad it is.

 

As that mantra looped through her mind, he reached the end of the walkway in front of the house. Paused. Lifted his hand and removed his glasses.

 

Even from fifty feet away, down the long stone path bordered by the lush gardens his crew had installed, hints of the damage he’d suffered were visible.

 

The late morning sun cast a sheen on the white scars stippling the left side of his face and neck, and his jaw was . . . wrong. Without the scarf to disguise it, the misshapen appearance, though not dramatic, was far more apparent.

 

He bore very little resemblance to the man in the photo Laura had shown her.

 

And as he slowly began to walk toward her, the full extent of the damage began to click into focus.

 

The scar she’d noticed on his cheek during their first meeting was, in fact, a network of pocked blemishes that ran from his forehead to his chin, down his neck . . . and who knew how much farther?

 

Mercy.

 

What must he have suffered if this was how he looked five years after the explosion?

 

Pressure built behind her eyes, and she gritted her teeth. Dammed up her tears. Letting them leak out could send a very bad message.

 

By the time he stopped at the bottom of the steps, the brilliant sunlight mercilessly highlighting the evidence of his injuries, she’d done her best to rein in her emotions and erase any evidence of distress.

 

“Kyle said you flagged him down. What can I help you with?”

 

Her brain tried to process Jon’s question.

 

Failed.

 

Did he expect her to disregard his discarded camouflage?

 

But that was like ignoring the elephant in the room.

 

Even if he’d been able to attribute their near-kiss to a foolish mistake and brushed it aside, how could she not mention the bold step he’d taken after the story he’d shared with her Saturday night?

 

“Ashley?”

 

At his prompt, she moistened her lips and prayed she wasn’t making another mistake. “You aren’t wearing your cap and glasses and scarf.”

 

The uninjured side of his mouth quirked up, but his tone was serious. “On the advice of someone I trust.”

 

She blinked.

 

Was he talking about her or Laura? Or both?

 

Before she could respond, he spoke again. “But it may have been a mistake. I think I’ve shocked a few people. Present company included.”

 

“I’m not shocked.”

 

His gaze dropped to her hands.

 

She looked down. Her knuckles were bloodless as she gripped the railing.

 

Heat suffused her cheeks, and she pried her fingers loose. “You prepped me for your appearance. I’m more shocked that you let go of the disguise so fast.” A slight stretch of the truth, but not a total fabrication.

 

“It was time.” He rested a hand on the bottom newel post of the railing. The one that was missing two fingers. “I got tired of living behind a mask. I did warn you it wasn’t pretty.”

 

She forced her balking legs to carry her forward, studying him as he stood at the base of the steps. “Yes, you did. And no, it’s not.” She wasn’t going to lie. “But the damage also isn’t worthy of a horror movie. Or even Rose’s haunted house.”

 

“I’m not certain about that. This three-fingered man, who’s legally blind in his left eye, also has major scarring here.” He swept a hand down his left arm and left leg. “It would be enough to scare some people.”

 

She digested the news about his vision issues as she lifted her chin. “I’m not one of them.”

 

“Good to know. What did you want to ask Kyle?”

 

That was it. He was getting back to business, with no mention of Saturday night.

 

But if he didn’t want to talk about it, forcing the issue could be a tactical error. Besides, the ditched disguise was plenty to deal with for one day.

 

“I wanted to get an update on the parking lot.”

 

“That’s where I was this morning. I thought an in-person visit would light a fire under them. They’ll be here by two o’clock. I don’t think they wanted to tangle with a guy who looks like me.” Again, he hitched up one side of his mouth. “There may be some utility to my appearance on the business side as an intimidation factor.”

 

He was joking about his scars?

 

That was a positive sign. Wasn’t it?

 

“Whatever works. I have to have a parking lot by Saturday.”

 

“It will be ready. And now that BJ’s crew has finished the gazebo, we’ll be able to get the plantings done around the base. You’ll be all set.”

 

“That helps my stress level. And I have good news too. Rose is going to play.”

 

A genuine smile brightened his features. “I’m glad to hear that.”

 

“I think your encouragement made the difference. She’s mentioned you in several of our conversations since Saturday.”

 

His gaze locked on to hers. “Saturday was . . . memorable.”