Heart of Gold - By Tami Hoag Page 0,45

Lord, what was the matter with him? All this woman had to do was glance at him and he damn near forgot who he was and what he was doing. And who was he to offer sage advice? What the hell did he know about kids, anyway? Nothing. He had no business offering advice. He had no business getting involved with Faith and her daughter at all. He was there to do a job.

Abruptly he pushed his chair back from the table and stood. “I’ve got rounds to make,” he said, suddenly all businesslike. “I have to check with my men on the perimeter.”

“You might want to look in on Mr. Matthews in the caretaker’s cottage,” Alaina suggested dryly. “I think he and Mr. Fitz are on the brink of divorce.”

“I think their karmas clash,” Jayne said.

Shane didn’t so much as crack a smile. He started to turn away, but Faith’s voice stopped him.

“Shane,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

She watched him struggle to mask confused emotions. His granite will won out, and he merely gave her a curt nod, then strode purposefully out of the room. The silence he left in his wake was almost painful.

Finally Jayne cleared her throat and said delicately, “Correct me if I’m wrong here, honey, but I think we just witnessed a very significant moment.”

Faith’s only answer was another delicate blush. How was she supposed to explain what was going on between Shane and herself when even she wasn’t certain where they were headed?

Alaina’s expression was a cross between wary and worried. “I thought you didn’t want to get involved with him.”

“I don’t seem to have a choice,” Faith said, staring at the door Shane had left through. “I’m in love with him.”

The captain’s suite was Faith’s favorite room in the inn. Located on the second floor of the Victorian part of the house, Captain Dugan’s bedroom had a large window that overlooked the ocean and allowed the afternoon sun to spill in. The furniture in the room was big and masculine—a massive mahogany bed with a flat canopy of cream-and-black brocade, marble-topped tables, an enormous chest of drawers, a regal-looking William and Mary arm chair with a black velvet seat cushion.

She had painted the room a rich shade of cream and accented it with pristine white and deep red. Many of the captain’s personal possessions had been used as decorative pieces, including his brass-bound sea chest, which now served as a storage place for extra blankets at the foot of the bed. Adjacent to the bedroom was a luxurious bath, and beyond that was a small, comfortable sitting room. Faith was certain this suite would quickly become a favorite with patrons of the inn.

Deep in thought, she wandered around the bedroom tucking potpourri sachets into drawers, wondering what to do about Shane. When the bedroom door swung open and he stepped inside, her heart squeezed painfully at his expression. He was definitely back to being guarded and wary. Her gentle lover had vanished, slipped behind his cold wall of isolation.

“So,” he said, his gaze roaming the elegantly appointed room, “this is where the infamous captain spent his nights.”

“Yes. I think he still does.” She managed a small laugh at the sharp glance her statement earned her. “Things get moved around in this room without my help.” She motioned to a small, perfectly horrible, oil painting of a ship that hung above the dresser. “Twice I’ve taken that down and put it in the attic. Twice it’s been back hanging on that wall the next morning. I’m told the ship in the painting was the captain’s favorite.”

Shane scowled at both the painting and the implication, and began prowling around the room, taking in every detail of the walls and floorboards.

Faith watched him with weary amusement. Ever the skeptic, she thought with a dying smile. He was skeptical about everything—love included. In fact, it was probably at the head of his list. She had taken hope for a few moments this morning at the breakfast table when he had reached out to give her support. Shane’s concern for her had overridden his deep-seated sense of caution, but his guard had quickly slipped back into place.

Now he flipped the light on in the closet and walked in, running his fingertips along the newly painted walls, pressing gently. Faith rolled her eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. “Shane, you’ve been over every inch of this house. There are