Midnight Kiss (Virgin River #12)(30)

A FEW HOURS LATER, however, the woman was still on Will’s mind as he returned home after a long day. He had worked at the jobsite before going to the Preston home because there was trim to run, and he’d wanted the space and quiet to do it properly. There was a peace to be found in measuring and cutting, fitting pieces together in a joint so smooth and sweet that no one would be able to spot it easily.

He should be tired and ready for bed, but he wasn’t. His thoughts kept returning to the prickly lady lawyer, who hadn’t hung around long after the meal. He didn’t know why he should be sparing her one second’s consideration.

Except that he couldn’t seem to stop remembering his first sight of her as she watched him sing.

She’d had her heart in her eyes, he’d have sworn it. No matter what a harridan she’d been afterward—aggravating, supercilious, insulting. In those first brief seconds, he’d thought he’d spotted something quite different.

He’d almost have said the woman was lonely.

At the time, however, he hadn’t been aware of how out of character such vulnerability would be, how difficult she actually was.

But then there was her behavior with the Preston children. Around them, everything about her softened. Her claws retracted and she could be almost…sweet.

The contrasts made him want to dig deeper.

And here he’d said he had no self-destructive instincts. He shook his head as he unlocked his workshop. A warm, furry shape appeared beside him, the scarred head bumping the side of his knee.

“Good evening, my friend,” Will greeted Finn, the half-blind border collie he’d found on another jobsite a few months back. He dug his fingers into the now-silky hair that had once been matted and full of burrs, his fingers kneading the old dog’s neck and shoulders.

Finn groaned and leaned into him.

Will sank to his haunches and sent the dog into ecstasy, his tail thumping eagerly on the wood floor. At the commotion, another figure appeared in the doorway, Moira, the mama cat who’d once owned this space until he and she had made their peace with one another. She twined her way past Finn and rubbed against his leg. “How are you, darlin’?”

He gave both animals a good stroking—and then he laughed. My Will, the savior of strays, his mum called him. He had a radar for a lost cause, a sad case, she claimed. Perhaps so, but if he had one grain of sense in his thick skull, he’d ignore any such notions about Jordan Parrish.

Will rose and walked to his workbench, studying the jewelry box that was his current project, wondering exactly who he was making it for. He didn’t always know until he was finished, but the making of something new was a challenge, a puzzle to be solved.

He would spend an hour or so at the end of this long day focusing only on these pieces of wood that would become something beautiful, and he would cease to care if the lady lawyer was lonely.

He didn’t need the headache.

You’re not my type, she’d said. Nor was she remotely his own.

Resolutely Will put his hands to work, and after a bit, his mind followed, leaving all thoughts of sad-eyed women behind.

JORDAN HAD HIT A COUPLE of clubs that were open even on Thanksgiving night, had danced until her restless feet hurt. She’d flirted, been propositioned, had considered and dropped several candidates, but in the end, she’d returned to her Sixth Street loft alone.

Now she sat on her second-floor windowsill, one leg propped up, the other dangling over empty air. Looking down, she watched the entertainment district stragglers, wondering if any felt her watching their little dramas unfold. Across the street, a decrepit Ford van crawled away, carrying the house band to a wee-hours breakfast where they’d laugh and talk and divide the night’s take among them.

Someone whistled back behind her, a tune so achy and sad she wanted to beg him to stop.

“Hey, gorgeous,” a graveled voice called right below her.

Jordan looked down.

Guitar strapped across his back, he was young…too young, but wise in the ways of the street, she could see that. Hard times rode the planes of his face, nestled in the long hair drifting over his shoulders. “Whatcha doin’ up there, pretty lady?”

Jordan smiled. “Not much. You?”

He shrugged. “Just gettin’ by.” He pantomimed strumming his guitar. “Playin’ some tunes…takin’ it as it comes.” He smiled, slow and sweet. “Layin’ down tracks for tomorrow.”

Jordan leaned her cheek against her knee. “That ole tomorrow. She’s not so easy to get to sometimes.”

He chuckled. “You are so right, sweet one.” He pulled his guitar around the front. “Maybe I can help you along.”

Jordan nodded, feeling a pinch in her heart at the kindness of a stranger.

He began strumming, then blended his smooth voice with words she couldn’t make out.

It didn’t matter. The melody spoke for itself. He played about love and longing…about pain and parting and nights when you don’t think you’ll make it until tomorrow.

Then, just when she was about to leap inside and slam the window, he switched to a melody so light, so hopeful that Jordan’s heart lifted, just a little.

Not much. But sometimes, even a little was enough.

She leaned her head back against the frame and closed her eyes, drifting inside the cradle his music had made for her. For moments that felt safely endless, she let him wrap a soft, cozy cocoon of music around her, and her heart rested.