Page 31 of Seaside Cowboy's Fairy Tale

Then she reached for a chocolate strawberry. “It must’ve been difficult growing up with a father like yours. And extremely difficult to accept what happened to him.”

A lump formed in his throat, and he took a sip of water to melt it. Besides, the sun was getting warmer, and ice-cold water from the cooler felt refreshing. So was her compassion. “You know about his suicide.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I do.” Concern softened her expression as she popped a grape in her mouth. “It was ruled a suicide, and it happened at a small cottage where he had no business being. That cottage has a history of tragic things happening there.” She paused, studying him. “It must’ve affected you very much.”

“It did.” The words rolled off his tongue. He’d never talked about it before, and there was a reason for it. He didn’t want to appear weak. Or rather, was tired of being weak and unable to stand up to his father to protect his brothers. “But probably not in the way others would expect. I didn’t grieve him. I was relieved.”

“And then you felt guilty for feeling relieved.” Again, it wasn’t a question, but a statement. Again, it was eerily accurate. While previously it was knowledge on her part, this was something she’d managed to guess, and how well she could understand him—see things he didn’t want to admit even to himself—scared him.

“Yes.” He drained his water bottle. “Relief, guilt, plus I was scared it wasn’t suicide. Because, well, he made lots of people angry. For years. Including the people I loved. And he just wasn’t the kind of guy to commit suicide.” His hands shook as he discarded the empty bottle in the trash can.

Go figure. Many years later, he was still furious at a man who no longer existed. He’d just suppressed it all this time.

Her eyes widened, and she dropped her chocolate strawberry back on the plate. “You think someone close to you might have...?” She didn’t finish the sentence, and he didn’t want her to. “I’m so sorry for what happened to you and your family. Anger, guilt, and suspicions are heavy burdens to carry on their own. When together, they can be unbearable.”

This time, she initiated the hug as she leaned across the bench, then wrapped her arms around him when he scooted to meet her. It was friendly, compassionate, not a romantic hug.

Yet his heart nearly stopped beating, then resumed with a wild force. He hugged her back and held her, for the first time in many years let himself drink in strength from someone else instead of dispersing it. He still knew precious little about her, but he knew he didn’t want to let her go.

He never wanted to let her go. He was falling into the deep, deep waters of attraction and didn’t know whether he wanted to come to the surface. Breathing was highly overrated.

When she eased back and looked up at him, her luscious, sparkling lips parted as if beckoning him, and the only thing he could think of was kissing her.

His pulse skyrocketed, and the whole wide world concentrated on one person. All of eternity concentrated in one moment.

Here and now.

Her beautiful eyes widened, pulling him in deeper, filling with attraction as if she were thinking the same thing, as if she could think of nothing but kissing him. Well, a man could hope, right?

But then she shifted back, and disappointment ripped through him.

“Have you heard any more news about the thefts?” Her gaze sharpened again.

Again with the thefts! Why did they interest her so much? His intuition hinted it wasn’t idle curiosity, and his intuition was usually right. Irritation twisted his gut that the magical moment was gone, replaced by something he couldn’t entirely understand. “There’s suspicion that one of my competitors, Fred Sersen, might’ve been involved. A man who looked like the one you and the victim described used to meet him for golf a couple of years ago.”

She seemed to file that away. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then shook her head. “Have you ever met a Ms. Natalie Mueller?”

His gaze sharpened on her. Should he reveal he knew she'd used Ms. Mueller’s invitation to get into the ball? “I met her last year at the annual charity ball. I don’t remember who introduced us. We were talking when a dance started, and I asked her to dance. We flirted, and I had a feeling she was interested in more, but I wasn’t. That’s it.”

Rachel frowned. “Hmm. I need to talk to you about something. But first, I need to do more research. Thank you for the picnic. It was way more than I could expect. We, um, we need to put back whatever we haven’t eaten so seagulls don’t swarm in here.” True to her words, some seagulls were already circling close with loud demands.

“Yeah. Sure.” His voice sounded husky. “And it was truly my pleasure.” It was.

He enjoyed treating her and not only because he liked her or she deserved it, though there was that. She was easy to please, delighted with so little while several of his dates wrinkled their noses at food that wasn’t to their liking or if they considered the restaurant service too slow. With Cinderella, there were no demands or expectations, just humility and gratitude.

Ironically, it made him want to give her the world. He looked in the cerulean sky without a single cloud as if the incredible day was a gift. No, correct that. He didn’t just want to give her the world—she should have the universe.

He and Cinderella worked in tandem while putting the rest of the food back in the basket and the cooler. His hand touched hers by accident when they were placing the last water bottle into the cooler. Or maybe not so much by accident, because the draw to her was nearly irresistible. A jolt went straight to his heart.

She didn’t remove her hand, so he took it into his, then slowly, deliberately kissed every delicate finger without a single ring, with no nail polish, no embellishments whatsoever. Her audible breath intake made the blood rush faster in his veins. He shifted closer, a silent question in his eyes that he hoped she could read.

Another strand escaped her cap, so he tucked it behind her ear, loving the smooth skin under his fingertips. And yes, causing a new sharp intake of breath on her behalf. His gaze dropped to her full lips again, then lifted to her eyes. His heartbeat seemed to triple as she angled her face toward his, closing the distance between them.

Her lips smelled like strawberries, lavender, grapes, and happiness, and everything inside him wanted to taste them—her lips, not strawberries and grapes. The expression in her eyes turned teasing, increasing his temperature a notch.

Then she lurched back, her expression no longer luminous as the teasing light disappeared from her hazel eyes. “Oh no.”

“No?” Disappointment sliced through him again. He understood her inner struggle, but it was still ripping him apart. He shifted back out of respect for her.

---