So if something untowardwashappening here, it couldn’t possibly affect her.
Could it?
TWELVE
HALFWAY DOWN THE PATHbehind Natalie’s house, Brad paused.
It wasn’t really necessary to visit Cara in her cottage. Natalie could tell her the news he’d shared about Micah.
Maybe he should forget this idea.
“Ifthe opportunity comes along to find love again, don’tadd passing it by to your list of regrets.”
As Larry’s counsel replayed through his mind, Brad exhaled.
He wasn’t anywhere close to falling in love with Cara. The two of them were just getting acquainted.
But his people instincts had always been sound. That’s why he’d known almost from the get-go that Elizabeth was destined to be his wife.
And Cara had triggered that same instinct during their first meeting, even if he’d tried to ignore it at the time.
Acting on that instinct too fast, however, would be out of character for a man who never let emotion overrule logic—a personality trait that had served him well in his work, and would also serve him well with Cara.
Larry was spot-on, though. Ignoring the opportunity thathad appeared, unbidden, on his doorstep would be foolish. He owed it to himself to at least explore the possibilities with the lovely historical anthropologist.
That’s why he had to double down on dealing with his guilt. Acknowledge emotionally what he’d begun to accept intellectually. That maybe the burden he’d shouldered for what had happened that night was too heavy. That perhaps his selfishness hadn’t been the sole cause of the tragedy.
Taking a deep breath, he put his feet in gear again and continued toward the cottage.
As he approached, he caught a glimpse of Cara through the front window.
Once again, his step faltered.
She was wearing a form-fitting top and yoga pants, one leg elevated behind her in an impossibly high position, a pink, flat-toed ballet slipper visible above her head as she rested one hand on the back of a chair beside her. Then she straightened up, executed a spin, and disappeared from view.
Whoa.
Who would have guessed the professor was also an accomplished ballerina?
Brad hesitated.
Should he backtrack? Leave her to her dancing? Barging in on what felt like a very private ritual seemed somehow too personal.
The decision was taken out of his hands, however, when she twirled back into view and came to a stop facing his direction. Her eyes widened, and she grabbed the back of the chair again.
Unless he wanted her to think he was a voyeur, he’d have to continue to the cottage and tell her the impetus for his visit.
He started forward again.
She pulled the door open as he approached, her cheeks flushed. From exertion—or being caught in ballerina mode?
No way to know.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to invade your—”
“Wait.” She held up a finger. “Let me turn off the music.”
Music?
