Page 86 of A Beach House Beginning

Hank was absolutely right. If Jace had, indeed, been given a second chance at life after being trapped in that hotel fire that killed two dozen people—and should have killed him—maybe it was time he stopped feeling sorry for himself and started doing something worthwhile to prove Somebody hadn’t made a mistake in saving his sorry hide.

And maybe he needed to start by not pursuing Christa Sullivan just because he wanted her, as though he was some kind of greedy kid in a toy store with a fistful of dollars.

“I have to get back to work,” she said abruptly. “Thanks again for your help. There’s an employee restroom back there if you need to wash up. Michelle can ring you up out front.”

“All right. Thanks.”

“Enjoy your mac and cheese.”

“I’ll do that,” he answered, though what had seemed so enticing a few hours earlier now seemed like the rest of his life, without much redeeming value at all.

Christa did her absolute best to focus on invoices when she returned to her office, but Jace McCandless proved more of a distraction than she wanted to admit.

The darn glass of her office and the panoramic view it allowed into the grocery store allowed her to watch him undetected as he returned to his cart.

She watched as he selected a gallon of milk, some bananas and a small quart of gourmet ice cream of a flavor she couldn’t quite determine from her viewpoint.

The store had become more busy while she had been unloading the truck with Jace. She saw him stop and speak to a few customers—women, mostly, though even from here she could sense a restlessness in him and guessed he was anxious to leave Sully’s.

Could she blame him?

She winced when she remembered the awkwardness of their last interaction. The most gorgeous man she’d ever seen in real life had almost kissed her, had told her he found her attractive, and she had jumped into full-blown panic.

She could have at least let herself have a little taste, just so she could remember in her old age that she had once kissed a man like Jace McCandless.

What was his story, anyway?

While they had been unloading that truck, he had talked and joked with her, but she hadn’t missed the shadows he hadn’t quite managed to hide. Those shadows were none of her business.Hewas none of her business. The orbits of their respective lives had briefly bumped up against each other, but it was just a random fluke and certainly wouldn’t happen again. She wouldn’t let it happen.

Anyway, he’d purchased the Silver Spur ranch near Junemarie and Hank more than a year ago, and as far as she knew, this was the first time he had spent any significant amount of time there.

No doubt he would be leaving Sage Flats soon and probably wouldn’t be back anytime in the near future.

She knew darn well that prospect shouldn’t depress her so much.

The next two days were too hectic for Christa to give Jace McCandless much thought at all. Hope had appointments with her neurologist and her rehab specialist an hour away at the children’s hospital in Salt Lake City.

Both doctors seemed heartened by her progress—and both urged Christa to continue with the equine therapy.

“I think it’s a great idea,” the rehab physician said. “It can only help with her tone and with muscle memory. She loved to ride before the accident. Putting her back up on a horse has to help her body remember how it used to move, which can only help rewire those neural pathways.”

Even more beneficial to her than the stretching and physical movement, Dr. Kolford explained, was the emotional lift Hope received from being around the horses and reconnecting to what had been an important part of her life preaccident.

Christa knew all that. In her heart she had seen her daughter’s improvement after even just one session and her excitement to try it again. That didn’t do much to ease her apprehension or her continuing worry about trying to afford it.

And now she had Jace McCandless to add into the mix. She could only hope he would follow his usual pattern and leave town soon so she wouldn’t have to risk encountering him again at Hope’s therapy sessions.

The next day, one of the three checkers at the store called in sick and the other two had commitments they couldn’t escape, so Christa had to fill in at the cash register most of the day. Two days away from her regular responsibilities at the store left a serious backlog in her workload.

She tried to call home to let her mother know she was running late, but Ellen didn’t answer. She left a message on the answering machine, then tried her mother’s cell phone and again received no answer.

She set the phone receiver down, fighting down her instinctive unease. Ellen would call her if something was wrong.

They had probably just gone for a walk or something. Sunshine poured through the front window of Sully’s, and it looked like a lovely spring day. Hope loved to be out basking in the fresh air.

Christa did, too, come to that. She had a sudden wild urge to take one of her father’s two Arabians for a good, hard run after work to shake off the cobwebs—to feel the soft breeze against her skin and the leather reins in her hands and the strength and beauty beneath her.

How long had it been since she had indulged in a few selfish moments for herself? Between work and Hope, she had little time for any of her old pastimes.

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