Sanctuary

she’s planning on a very short stay.”
    “She leaves day after tomorrow, thank the Lord. Come on down. Let me get you a nice glass of lemonade, a piece of that cherry pie Brian made yesterday.”
    “I really need to get back. I’ve got stacks of paperwork to wade through.”
    “I’m not sending you back without a cold drink. This heat’s enough to fell a horse.”
    “I like the heat,” she began, then came to a dead halt as Brian walked in the front door.
    His arms were full of flowers. They should have made him look foolish. She wanted him to look foolish. Instead he looked all the more male, all the more attractive, with his tanned, well-muscled arms loaded down with freshly cut blossoms.
    “Oh, Brian, I’m so glad you got to that.” Kate hurried down with her mind racing at light-speed. “I was going to cut for the fresh arrangements myself this morning, but this crisis with Mrs. Tores threw me off my stride.”
    She chattered on as she transferred flowers from his arms to hers. “I’ll just take it from here. You don’t have any sense at all about how to arrange them. I swear, Kirby, the man just stuffs them into a vase and thinks that’s all there is to it. Brian, you go fix Kirby a lemonade, make her eat a piece of pie. She’s come all the way out here just to do me a favor, and I won’t have her going off until she’s been paid back. Run along now, while I take this upstairs.”
    She headed up the steps, willing the two of them not to behave like fools.
    “I don’t need anything,” Kirby said stiffly. “I was just on my way out.”
    “I imagine you can spare five minutes to have a cold drink and avoid hurting Kate’s feelings.”
    “Fine. It’s a quicker trip home through the back anyway.” She turned and started down the hall at a brisk pace. She wanted to be away from him. When he found out about his mother, she would do what she could for him. But for now she had her own pain to cope with.
    “How’s the patient?”
    “She could dance a jig if she wanted to. There’s not a thing wrong with her.” She pushed through the door and stood stubbornly while he got out a pitcher of golden-yellow lemonade swimming with mint and pulp. When her mouth watered, she swallowed resolutely. “How’s your hand?”
    “It’s all right. I don’t really notice it.”
    “I might as well look at it while I’m here.” She set her bag down on the breakfast table. “The sutures should have been removed a couple of days ago.”
    “You were leaving.”
    “It’ll save you a trip out to see me.”
    He stopped pouring her lemonade and looked at her. The sun was streaming through the window at her back, licking light over her hair. Her eyes were a dark, stormy green that made his loins tighten.
    “All right.” He carried her glass to the table and sat down.
    Despite the heat, her hands were cool. Despite her anger, they were gentle. She saw no swelling or puffiness, no sign of infection. The edges of the wound had fused neatly. He would barely have a scar, she decided, and opened her bag for her suture scissors.
    “This won’t take long.”
    “Just don’t put any new holes in me.”
    She clipped the first suture, tugged it free with tweezers. “Since we both live on this island, and it’s likely we’ll be running into each other on a regular basis for the rest of our lives, perhaps you’d do me the courtesy of clearing the air.”
    “It’s clear enough, Kirby.”
    “For you, apparently. But not for me.” She clipped, tugged. “I want to know why you turned away from me. Why you decided to end things between us the way you did.”
    “Because they’d gone farther than I’d intended them to. Neither one of us thought it would work. I just decided to back off first, that’s all.”
    “Oh, I see. You dumped me before I could dump you.”
    “More or less.” He wished he couldn’t smell her. He wished she’d had the decency not to rub that damned peach-scented lotion all over her skin to torment him. “I’d see it more as just a matter of simplifying.”
    “And you like things simple, don’t you? You like things your way, in your time and at your pace.”
    Her voice was mild, and though he wasn’t sure he could trust it, particularly when she had a sharp implement in her hand, he nodded. “That’s true enough. You’re the same, but your way, your time, and your pace are different from mine.”
    “I can’t argue with that. You prefer a malleable woman, a delicate