Page 66 of Tempest at Annabel's Lighthouse
“What?” Annoyance flashed across his face.
“Isn’t it obvious? For whatever reason, someone out there isnothappy about our digging into the lighthouse’s history and its secrets. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s not worth the advance on the book. I’m going to take you home.”
“You know what?” Pete stated suddenly. “I’m kind of done with this.”
“With what?” Shea reared back, perplexed.
“You.”
“Me?”
With his good arm, Pete shoved aside the blanket that Shea had just tucked up for him. “Yes, you. You’re bossy. You’re entitled. You tell me what to do and where to go and how to do it. You’re not easy to get along with, Shea.”
“I am too!” He was taking this way too far. Here she was at his bedside, worried about his welfare, and he was taking it out on her.
“And you argue with me all the time.”
“I do not,” Shea retorted. She crossed her arms and glared down at him.
“Listen.” Pete paused and shook his head. “I can’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“This!” He waved his hand in a circle. “I can’t do anything right for you, so I leave you alone, and then that’s not even right. What do you want me to be? Casanova? Mr. Darcy?”
So hehadbeen listening at some point.
“I wouldn’t mind a little Mr. Darcy! You don’t buy me roses for Valentine’s Day, you don’t give me a kiss when you walk through the door, and you get more excited about your truck than you do about me.”
“Because if I pay attention to you, I don’t do it in the right way.” Pete’s glower matched her own.
They stared at each other for several seconds, neither one of them blinking. It was uncomfortable, but Shea would be darned if she was the one to break the standoff.
She didn’t. Pete did. “I’m not saying I’ve got it together, Shea. But at least I try.”
Shea’s eyes burned. “I try too, you know.”
“Do you?” Pete pressed.
“Of course I do. I’m here, aren’t I?” Shea sank onto the chair, drained of energy and warring between the stress she’d been holding in the last day and a half and the frustration of a dying marriage.
“But you left me,” Pete went on, sharing more with her than he had in months.
“I left you for a research trip. That’s nothing new.” Shea’s retort sounded weak even to her ears. She tried to strengthen it. “And you don’t like to travel. You never want to come along anyway.”
Pete sniffed. A light sniff that was derisive while also being careful not to jar his ribs. “I overheard you talking to your friend about how you needed ‘self-care.’”
“What’s wrong with self-care?” Shea snapped.
Pete locked eyes with her. “Self-care? Nothing. Self-indulgence? That’s a problem.”
“I’m not indulging in anything but trying to be alone and figure out who I am! That’s even biblical.”
“Really?” Both doubt and sarcasm laced his tone.
“Sure. Jesus went off by himself.”
“To pray!”
