Discovering You (3 page)

“Thank you.” She felt her face heat and wished she didn't find his appreciation so gratifying. He was definitely
not
the type of man she needed. She needed Charlie, but Charlie was gone and he wasn't coming back. The vacuum created by his death, as well as the reason behind it, had left her feeling...abysmal. It was terrible to be so lost and lonely that a stranger's attention felt like a lifeline.

“What happened here really wasn't my fault,” he called out. “I hope you believe that.”

“Of course,” she responded, and yet she'd heard Chief Bennett say he was always in trouble. That confirmed her first impression of him, didn't it? He still wasn't coming toward her, so she crossed her arms and looked back at him. “Are you ready to go home?”

Finally, he started walking. “I'm ready, but...maybe we could clarify a few things along the way.”

“Like...?”

“That ring on your finger,” he said and threw her a sexy grin.

India felt a corresponding shiver of desire, which scared her.
No!
she told herself. Not
this
guy. She couldn't screw up again.

2

R
od had never particularly liked red hair. He usually had a preference for blondes. But India's hair, which fell long and straight to her shoulders, was between a bright orange and a dark mahogany, and somehow it worked with her pale skin and almost translucent blue eyes. She was different, unique, delicate in appearance.

The more he looked at her, the more he liked what he saw. But based on what he'd gathered from their conversation since she'd started to drive, she was still in love with her dead husband. She teared up when she talked about him, and yet she wouldn't say how he died. When Rod asked, she told him she didn't want to “go into that.” Then she fiddled with her wedding ring the rest of the way to town. The only thing he could get out of her was that it'd been eleven months since the “tragedy” that'd taken Charlie.

“When will your daughter be back?” he asked, hoping she'd be more comfortable if he changed the subject.

“After the Fourth of July,” she replied.

He shifted to ease the terrible ache in his leg. “That gives you three weeks on your own.”

“Yes, too long for me, but I plan to make good use of that time.” She turned toward the river, where they both lived.

“Doing what?”

“Using that potter's wheel you helped me carry into the house.”

“You do ceramics for a living?”

“Hope to,” she said. “To be honest, I haven't made much money on it in the past, but I've never seriously pursued my art. I plan to open my own studio one day.”

The smile that curved her lips when she said that—as if it had always been her dream—lit her whole face.

“Here in Whiskey Creek?”

“Yes.”

“Not out of your house...”

“No. I'm picturing a cute little shop downtown. But first I have to build up my inventory.”

He was glad she didn't expect folks to find her place along the river. He didn't think she could be successful there, not tucked away as they were. “Don't you have stuff already? I mean, haven't you been doing it for a while?”

“Since high school, but not with a business in mind. What I created before belongs to a different era in my life. Now that I'm starting over, rebuilding, I'd like to take my work in a new direction.”

Her husband must've left her well-off, Rod decided. She'd essentially told him that what she planned to do wouldn't cover her bills—and he knew she'd paid quite a bit for her house. Although it'd once been a cheap rental, some investors had purchased it and renovated with the intent of reselling. They did a lot of work and put some key upgrades into it, so it'd been pricey by the time they were done.

Of course, Rod would've been able to tell by her clothes—or that rock of a wedding ring—that she wasn't hurting for money, even if he hadn't known how much she'd paid for the house, or noticed the expensive furniture the movers carried in when the van arrived a few hours after he and his brothers had helped set up her potter's wheel. “So you'll work from home every day?”

“For the next year or so, until I can determine if I have any chance at succeeding.”

“You can make it,” he said. “There're quite a few artisans in Gold Country. There's a glassworks place not far away, in Sutter Creek, if you haven't seen it.”

“I have. It's wonderful.” She stopped at the four-way, the last turn before the route home took them along the river. “What about you? What do you do?” she asked. “From the way the paramedics were talking, I wondered if you're a professional fighter.”

“No,” he said with a chuckle. “My oldest brother, Dylan, used to do MMA. Made good money at it, too. But he didn't want the rest of us to get involved in it. He needed us to work in the family business, which started doing well after he took over.”

“From...”

“My father.” Rod didn't state the reason or say anything about the circumstances. He knew how his history would sound to someone who wasn't familiar with it, especially someone who came from a better class of people—and India's clothes, her interest in art, even her language, suggested she came from a better class of people.

She tucked her silky-looking hair behind her ear. “What kind of business?”

“We own the auto body shop.”

“And you work there?”

He could smell her perfume. That, too, seemed to hint at money. “I do. Probably always will. But that's okay. There isn't anything I'd rather be doing. Maybe you've seen it. Amos Auto Body. It's a couple of blocks off Sutter Street.”

She shook her head. “Don't think I have.”

“I've been fixing smashed cars, trucks and motorcycles pretty much all my life.”

“Given the state of your bike, that experience should be useful,” she said wryly.

He opened and closed his right hand, which was beginning to swell. “I rebuilt it the first time. I can do it again.”

“It was insured, wasn't it?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“That should help.”

He leaned over to check her speedometer. He felt he could push the damn car faster than she was driving. “You realize you're ten miles under the speed limit.”

“I'm a little rattled.”

“Why?
I'm
the one who got into a fight.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “Which proves there's no telling what you might come across out here!”

He chuckled. “This is a quiet area. I think you're safe for the rest of the night. And I
would
like to get home before morning,” he added, just to rib her.

Her jaw dropped open. “You have no shame,” she said. “Here I am, being a good citizen and helping you out, and you're criticizing the way I do it.”

“Nope. I'm only suggesting you make more of an effort.”

She hit the gas, and the car surged forward. “Happy now?”

“Happ
ier
.”

“I aim to please.”

He studied her profile. “India's a different name. You're the first India I've ever met.”

“My mother loved
Gone with the Wind
. Named me after India Wilkes.”

“Shouldn't it be Scarlett or something like that?”

“India was a secondary character.”

“I guess I skipped that book,” he joked. He'd skipped a lot of books, hardly ever shown up for class. It was surprising he'd graduated from high school. He wouldn't have, if his big brother had been willing to accept anything less. “Where does your mother live these days? She still in Oakland?”

“She died when I was eighteen.”

She'd had to deal with
two
family deaths? “I'm sorry. So it's just you and your father now?”

“No, my father died before she did, but I didn't know him very well. They were divorced when I was three. He was an alcoholic, wasn't part of my life.”

He could relate to her situation there. His own father had turned to alcohol. “So neither of your parents knew Charlie?”

“No, we were only together the last six years.”

“Where did you meet?”

He expected her to say college. The timing would've been about right. But she didn't. “I was waiting tables at a restaurant near the hospital where he worked. He and some of the other doctors used to come in quite often.”

“Doctors.”

She nodded. “He was ten years older than me.”

“And he was a doctor.” Rod repeated that because it wasn't good news. It confirmed that she was, indeed, way out of his league.

“A heart surgeon,” she said.

Shit.
Just what a guy wanted to hear when he'd never even attempted college.

“If he'd had another fifteen or twenty years, who knows what he might've accomplished,” she said softly, almost reverently. “I believe he would've made a real difference in the world.”

Rod knew then that it didn't matter if Charlie was six feet under. An auto body technician couldn't compare with a renowned heart surgeon, even the memory of one.

“Was it a car accident that killed him?” Rod hoped it wasn't a heart attack. That would be too ironic.

“Please. Like I said, I'd rather not talk about his death.”

He didn't understand why she had to leave him wondering. She'd told him other things, like how long Charlie had been gone. Why couldn't she say it was an accident or an illness or whatever?

“I shouldn't have asked again,” he said. But his curiosity couldn't be entirely unexpected. Someone dying that early was unusual.

They were silent for a moment. Then Rod spoke again. He didn't want his question about her late husband to be the end of their conversation. “Can't be easy to work on art with a child underfoot. Is that part of the reason your in-laws are keeping your daughter? To give you a chance to get started on your pottery?”

“Not really. Having her around helps fill the hole Charlie left behind. They have a daughter, but her job took her to Japan two years ago. They don't see her often.”

“A family of high achievers, huh?”

“Yes. They can be a bit intimidating.”

“You didn't feel you fit in?”

She hesitated. “They were fine. Anyway, for the record, I'd never choose to be without Cassia.” She sent him a grim smile. “When she's gone, I hardly know what to do with myself. I can't work
all
the time.”

She'd recently lost her husband, and she was new in town. He could see why she'd want her daughter to keep her company. But at least the kid had grandparents who cared about her. Rod hadn't been lucky enough to get decent parents, let alone anything more. If not for Dylan, his oldest brother, who'd raised him, he would've been put into foster care when he was in middle school.

Now that they were older and able to take care of themselves, life was easier. Rod was glad of that. He was also determined not to do anything that might make it hard again. Intrigued though he was with his new neighbor, he'd be better off moving on to other prospects.

“You've been through a lot of changes,” he said. “But I'm sure things will eventually improve.” That was a throwaway statement. He was backing off and letting her have her secrets and her space. Considering what his mother had done and how it had affected his whole family, he had no desire to get involved with an emotionally inaccessible woman. He wasn't about to try to break down what he considered a locked door.

When India glanced over, he could tell she'd noticed the change in his tone. That glance was filled with uncertainty, and maybe a tinge of regret. She understood that he'd disengaged; he could see it in her face. It surprised him that she didn't seem completely convinced she wanted that. But what else could he do?
She
was the one who'd thrown up barriers.

“You're quiet,” she said at length.

Now that he no longer had any romantic interest to distract him from his injuries, he discovered that his leg, his mouth, his hands—almost every part of his body—hurt like hell. He needed to take a shower, swallow some pain pills and fall into bed. “It's late. I'm not in the best shape. And there's not much to say.”

“I may not be open to a relationship. I'm still in love with Charlie. I hope we can be friends, though.”

That was direct, but he'd been direct with her. He preferred open communication, didn't see any reason to play games. “Of course.”

“I'm sincere. I could use a friend.”

He shrugged. “Sure, we'll be friends
and
neighbors.”

That must've sounded trite, because she frowned, apparently not pleased by his response.

Bed
, he told himself. He needed sleep. This woman was sending him mixed signals. She said she was still in love with her late husband and yet she kept looking at him as if...well, as if she liked what she saw. How was he supposed to react to that if she wouldn't give him a chance?

As soon as she pulled into his drive, he reached for the door handle.

“Rod?”

When he looked back, she seemed about to speak.

“Yes?” he prompted.

She pressed her thumbnails into the padded steering wheel. “Maybe if...if you're not too tired, you should come over to my place.”

“Right now?”

When she raised her eyes, she seemed nervous—but she nodded.

“What for?” he asked.

She kept making those indentations in her steering wheel. “Well, I've got some salve and bandages. I could help get the dirt and gravel out of your leg.”

Except she'd just told him she wasn't interested. What the hell? “It's okay, I'll manage.”

She caught his arm. “You could—” her voice fell to a whisper “—shower at my place.”

He stared down at her pale hand against his darker skin. “I thought you didn't want to be with me.”

Releasing his arm, she looked away. “I never said that.”

“You shut me down. Immediately. I let you know I was interested, that I wanted to take you out, and got a no.”

She went back to making those marks in the steering wheel. “Because I'm not available for a relationship. I think it's important to be honest about that up front.”

“So what's this about?” He peered at her a little more closely.
“Sex?”

Her nails dug deeper. “No! I just thought...maybe we could get to know each other a little better.”

“Then this
isn't
about sex. You want me to shower at your place...as a friend? For company or something?”

“Sort of. I guess we could...talk.”

They'd been talking. He didn't believe that was what she had in mind. But whatever she was asking for wasn't easy for her to put into words. “You're missing your husband,” he ventured.

“Of course.”

“The way he touched you.”