Robert jerked his thoughts back to the green light. He pressed the gas and drove through the intersection, but something tugged at him, and he signaled to pull into the center lane to make a U-turn.
What am I doing? Protector. That’s my role. Only a protector.
But he couldn’t get the image of Jessie out of his head when he visited her yesterday. She’d looked so lost and alone. So broken and in need of a friend.
She deserved so much more than the cards life had dealt her.
He pulled into the parking lot of “The Creative Touch” and shut off his engine but made no move to get out.
Could be the friend Jessie needed without letting himself fall for her again? If he bought her a few art supplies, would she accept the gift without feeling like there were strings attached?
A chill spread over him as he recalled the images and photographs he’d seen in Jessie’s book. He opened his door, letting the hot July afternoon warm him.
Five minutes later, Robert wiped sweat from his brow, feeling glassy eyed. Colorful tubes, brushes of assorted qualities and sizes, sketch pads, and canvases surrounded him.
Did Jessie prefer acrylics over watercolors?
He recalled her touting the merits of this brand versus that brand, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember which brand she preferred. All he could remember was how cute she looked when she was passionate about something.
And she’d always been passionate about art.
“Can I help you find something?” A middle-aged woman wearing a long denim skirt and a tie-dye t-shirt smiled at him.
“Uh...yeah. I want to buy some supplies for an artist friend of mine.”
“A skilled artist or a beginner?”
“Skilled.”
“So, are you thinking of a specialty brush or more paints for your friend’s collection? Or perhaps a canvas?”
“She doesn’t have a collection anymore.”
The woman pressed a hand to her chest and gasped. No doubt an artist herself. “Did she lose it all in a fire or something?”
It probably would have hurt Jessie less to have lost all her art supplies in a fire rather than in the violent, demeaning way he imagined Pendleton had taken them from her.
He rolled his shoulders to clear the tension thoughts of Jessie always caused. “Something like that.”
* * *
Jessie lookedup from sketching in her journal at the sound of tires on the gravel driveway. Her heart skipped a beat. Not because she feared it might be Patrick, but because she knew Robert would visit again today.
She tried to tell herself she was just eager for company, not specifically the company of her former boyfriend. But her heart made up for the skipping a minute later by racing when she opened the door for Robert.
Man, he looked nice in a uniform.
Okay, it wasn’t loneliness; she didn’t react like this when her mother came to visit. Of course, her mom wasn’t tall, broad-shouldered, and didn’t have the longest, darkest eyelashes Jessie had ever seen.
“How are you doing?” Robert’s deep voice sent a little thrill racing through her. He scratched his jaw, as though needing something to do with his hands.
“Good. Bored, as usual.” She remembered how easy it was to talk to Robert two days ago and all the personal things she’d shared with him—things she had told no one else. That piece of her soul that had connected with him when she was seventeen remembered him and wanted to reconnect with him.
Robert scratched his jaw again and looked out the window at his Tahoe, then shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“Is something wrong? Has Patrick caused trouble for my mom again already?”
“Huh? No, he hasn’t returned.”
