He was being inexorably drawn into Anna’s life …
It only reminded him of his mission here and how he wasn’t any closer to the truth than he’d been when he arrived.
They headed out of the garage. The sky had darkened. He could see distant lightning over the ocean.
“I should warn you we sometimes lose power in the middle of a big storm. You can find emergency candles and matches in the top drawer in the kitchen.”
“Thanks.” Max headed up the stairs, trying not to favour his stiff ankle, but his efforts were in vain.
“Your ankle! I completely forgot about it! I’m an idiot to make you stand out there for hours just to hold my ladder. I’m so sorry!”
“It wasn’t hours, and you’re not an idiot. I’m fine. The ankle doesn’t even hurt any more.”
It wasn’t quite the truth but he wasn’t about to tell her that.
He didn’t want her sympathy.
He wanted something else entirely from Anna Galvez, something he damn well knew he had no business craving.
RAEANNE THAYNE
finds inspiration in the beautiful northern Utah mountains, where she lives with her husband and three children. Her books have won numerous honours, including a RITA® Award nomination from Romance Writers of America and a Career Achievement Award from Romantic Times BOOKreviews magazine. RaeAnne loves to hear from readers and can be reached through her website at http://www.raeannethayne.com.
A Soldier’s Secret
RaeAnne Thayne
MILLS & BOON
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To my brothers, Maj. Brad Robinson,
US Air Force, and high-school teacher
and coach Mike Robinson.
Both of you are heroes!
Chapter One
Lights were on in her attic—lights that definitely hadn’t been gleaming when she left that morning.
A cold early March breeze blew off the ocean, sending dead leaves skittering across the road in front of her headlights and twisting and yanking the boughs of the Sitka spruce around Brambleberry House as Anna Galvez pulled into the driveway, behind an unfamiliar vehicle.
The lights and the vehicle could only mean one thing.
Her new tenant had arrived.
She sighed. She so didn’t need this right now. Exhaustion pressed on her shoulders with heavy, punishing hands and she wanted nothing but to slip into a warm bath with a mind-numbing glass of wine.
The day had been beyond ghastly. She could imagine few activities more miserable than spending an entire humiliating day sitting in a Lincoln City courtroom being confronted with the unavoidable evidence of her own stupidity.
And now, despite her battered ego and fragile psyche, she had to go inside and make nice with a stranger who wouldn’t even be renting the top floor of Brambleberry House if not for the tangled financial mess that stupidity had caused.
In the backseat, Conan gave one sharp bark, though she didn’t know if he was anxious at the unfamiliar vehicle parked in front of them or just needed to answer the call of nature.
Since they had been driving for an hour, she opted for the latter and hurried out into the wet cold to open the sliding door of her minivan. The big shaggy beast she inherited nearly a year earlier, along with the rambling Victorian in front of her, leaped out in one powerful lunge.
Tail wagging, he rushed immediately to sniff around the SUV that dared to enter his territory without his permission. He lifted his leg before she could kick-start her brain and Anna winced.
“Conan, get away from there,” she called sternly. He sent her a quizzical look, then gave a disgruntled snort before lowering his leg and heading to one of his favorite trees instead.
She really hoped her new tenant didn’t mind dogs.
She hated the idea of a stranger in Sage’s apartment. If she had her way, she would keep it empty, even though Sage and her husband and stepdaughter had their own beach house now a half mile down the shore for their frequent visits to Cannon Beach from their San Francisco home.
But after Anna vehemently refused to accept financial help from Sage and Eben, Sage had insisted she at least rent out her apartment to help defray costs.
The two of them were co-owners of the house and Sage’s opinion certainly had weight. Besides, Anna was nothing if not practical. The apartment was empty, she had a fierce, unavoidable need for income and she knew many people were willing to pay a premium for furnished beach-front living space.
Army Lieutenant Harry Maxwell among them.
She gazed up at the lights cutting through the twilight from the third-story window. She was going to have to go up there and welcome him to Brambleberry House. No question. It was the right thing to do, even if the long, exhausting day in that courtroom had left her as bedraggled and wrung-out as one of Conan’s tennis balls after a good hard game of fetch on the beach.
She might want to do nothing but climb into her bed, yank the covers over her head and weep for her shattered dreams and her own stupidity, but she had to put all that aside for now and do the polite thing.
She grabbed her laptop case from the passenger seat just as her cell phone rang. Anna swallowed a groan when she saw the name and phone number.
She wasn’t sure what was worse—making nice with a stranger now living in her home or being forced to carry on a conversation with the bubbly real estate agent who had facilitated the whole deal.
With grim resignation, she opened her phone and connected the call. “Anna Galvez speaking.”
“Anna! It’s Tracy Harder!”
Even if she hadn’t already noted Tracy’s information on the caller ID, she would have recognized the other woman’s perky enthusiasm in an instant.
“So have you seen him yet?” Tracy asked.
Anna screwed her eyes shut as if she could just make those upstairs lights—and Tracy—disappear. “I just pulled up to the house, Tracy. I’ve been in Lincoln City all day. I haven’t had a chance to even walk into the house yet. So, no, I haven’t seen him. I’m planning to go up to say hello in a moment.”
“You are the luckiest woman in town right now. I mean it! You have absolutely no idea.”
“You’re right,” she said, unable to keep the dry note out of her voice. “But I’m willing to bet you’re about to enlighten me.”
Tracy