The Heartbreaker of Echo Pass - Maisey Yates Page 0,11

“I didn’t say that.”

“You did, though. That is basically what you’re saying.”

She wanted to laugh except she was so angry. After everything...she couldn’t even fantasize that a man like...well, that one would be at all interested in her in that way.

“I’m not. I’m really not. I just... He might expect something.”

“Ryder,” she said. “I know that you’re my brother, but come on. The man is no more likely to want to take advantage of me than he would a small brown vole that came to his door. And you know it.”

“You’re not a vole,” Ryder said. “You’re a woman and...”

“And I’ll bring bear spray,” she said, feeling angry now. Honestly, it was like he was making fun of her. How could he possibly think that... He couldn’t. He was basically just giving her a talk to give it. Being outrageous and over the top because he could be. “But I guarantee you that the prospect of a home-cooked meal is about the only thing that makes me appealing to him.”

“Just be safe,” Ryder said.

“Do not lecture me about safe sex,” she said. “First of all, I’m way too old. Second of all, you don’t practice it yourself.”

“Iris,” Ryder said, sounding like he wished he were dead.

“Don’t lecture me,” she said. “Don’t scold me. Just support me.”

“Make sure you have cell signal up there,” he said.

“I don’t think I do.”

“Fine, then put a CB radio in your vehicle and figure out a way to call Pansy if you need it.”

“Ryder, I promise you that I will be safe. But you have to let me go. You’re right, I was the one who came alongside you and did this. Who helped you with the other kids. I was never one of them. Not in the same way. But we were a team. And we aren’t now. We can’t be. Not in the same way. I’m so... I’m so happy for you. For you and Sammy, and I love Astrid. Dearly. But I still don’t have a life, Ryder. And that’s not fair.”

He looked at her, hard. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I mean, really sorry. I didn’t think of it. Not that way. I’m proud of you,” he said. “For making it happen.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re stronger than I give you credit for,” he added.

“I am,” she said. “Stronger than I give me credit for too.”

She brought the cake to the table, and the subject of her working for Griffin was dropped.

And she repeated what she just said to Ryder, over and over internally. She was strong. She was. She had lost her parents, she had helped raise her siblings. Cleaning up after one backwoodsman was going to seem easy in comparison.

She was certain of it.

CHAPTER FOUR

WHEN GRIFFIN WOKE UP Monday morning, he had the realization that today would be different than the one before it.

And that was strange.

He didn’t really look forward to things. And he wasn’t sure that he could say he was looking forward to this. Mostly, it was a strange mixture of alarm and anticipation. It was just knowing that the day wouldn’t stretch on until it ended with nothing interrupting it. Knowing that another person would be sharing his space. Space that had been sacred ground since he’d moved in.

But he went out, and he worked on the house until the sun started to make his shoulders feel blistered, and he stripped his white undershirt off and wiped his face with it before shoving it in the back pocket of his jeans and heading toward the house, his stomach growling.

Her car was there. Gleaming in the late afternoon light. He had moved the log yesterday so she wouldn’t have to hike up to the cabin the next time she arrived. It seemed the least he could do.

He walked up the steps and pushed the door open, and stopped when he saw her, down on her hands and knees on the floor, scrubbing vigorously. Her dark hair was hanging limp in her face, her brow gleaming with sweat. She was wearing a plain gray T-shirt that showed nothing of her body, and a skirt that fell down past her knees, and he didn’t know why he was frozen there watching her work.

Maybe it was just the strangeness of having her there. It sure as hell couldn’t be anything else.

She straightened, clambering to her feet, her eyes wide. Her mouth went slack, then dropped open.

“Hi,” he said.

“Oh” was her response. She was staring at him. Or more accurately, at his