And he would leave her in suspense as to when the shot calling would commence.
She stood next to him.
The Greenleaf house was a tiny two-bedroom Craftsman-esque residence built circa 1920-something. Geographically, it occupied a fairly indeterminate place in the hierarchy of Hellcat Canyon territory. Sort of in between all those vacation palaces and the deep dark of the hills. She doubted Jonah Greenleaf was trying to make a statement with the location, but you never knew with the Greenleafs.
And it was kind of falling apart. The porch was caving in; there was a hole in the roof; the back deck was hazardous.
He was still quiet.
“There’s only a little hole in the roof overoneof the bedrooms,” she said. “I don’t think it needs a whole new roof. You might need to shoo the squirrels out. I don’t think a raccoon has gotten in yet. Plumbing’s good. Wiring’s good. The porch is bad, as you can see. The back deck needs help. Gotta watch your step out there. Nice woodwork inside. Your basic Craftsman.”
Her words were clipped and nervous because he looked utterly absorbed by what she was saying, while he was clearly thinking something else.
“Love Craftsman homes.” He said this after a funny pause. As if his thoughts were on a time delay.
“You’re tucked in off the road here among the trees, but there’s a really wonderful view of the canyon nearby. One of my favorites. I go there a lot. It’s a sort of vista point not far from my place. Kind of set back a bit off the road.”
“Mmm,” was all he said.
He patrolled the front of the house, looking a bit like a stalking panther.
She decided to take his lack of glib commentary as a good sign.
“If you stand here, you can hear the river. A little creek runs around back of the property. No one can see in through the trees, but you get plenty of sun in the afternoon in the back of the house, especially in the kitchen.”
They stood together and listened to the creek.
“Another good sound,” he said.
It was a reference to last night, and that kiss they weren’t talking but in a way was all they were talking about. It thrummed through every word and every silence.
He turned to smile faintly at her again. And then strode off suddenly, heading toward the corner of the house. It looked as though he intended to go around the back of it.
He went stock-still just as he turned the corner.
Her heart lurched.
He must have seen the blue-eyed Mary’s.
This was the thing that decided her. She knew they grew in a sort of unchecked abundance up against the back of this house.
She didn’t know if it would be a painful memory for him, or a sweet one. But she wasn’t sure it mattered. She had a hunch they meant home to him, regardless, and she knew deep down that John Tennessee McCord needed a place that felt like home, even if he didn’t know it.
He didn’t turn around for so long she started to worry.
But she half suspected it was because he didn’t want her to see his expression.
She cleared her throat. “It’s just... I saw them and thought of you, and I just thought... I thought the house might give you... something to take care of. A fixed point in the sandstorm.”
He turned back around slowly then and looked at her full on.
His expression was carefully inscrutable.
And then his face lit, and his slow smile about yanked her heart out of her chest like a lariat.
“I don’t mind.” His voice was low, and smoky. It was like being stripped nude and laid down on velvet in a dark room.
She lost her breath.
