Sanctuary

perfect.” He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and scowled, continued to scowl while the rain pattered on his head.
    He should have known something was up when his friend had cheerfully tossed in a box of tools along with the Jeep. Nathan considered hauling them out and beating on the engine with a wrench. It was unlikely to work, but it would at least be satisfying.
    He stepped back, then froze as the ghost stepped out of the forest shadows and watched him.
    Annabelle.
    The name swam through his mind, and his gut clenched in defense. She stood in the rain, still as a doe, her smoky red hair damp and tangled, those big blue eyes quiet and sad. His knees threatened to give way, and he braced a hand on the fender.
    Then she moved, pushed back her wet hair. And started toward him. He saw then that it was no ghost, but a woman. It was not Annabelle, but, he was sure, it was Annabelle’s daughter.
    He let out the breath he’d been holding until his heart settled again.
    “Car trouble?” Jo tried to keep her voice light. The way he was staring at her made her wish she’d stayed in the trees and let him fend for himself. “I take it you’re not standing here in the rain taking in the sights.”
    “No.” It pleased him that his voice was normal. If there was an edge to it, the situation was cause enough to explain it. “It won’t start.”
    “Well, that’s a problem.” He looked vaguely familiar, she thought. A good face, strong and bony and male. Interesting eyes as well, she mused, pure gray and very direct. If she were inclined to portrait photography, he’d have been a fine subject. “Did you find the trouble?”
    Her voice was honey over cream, gorgeously southern. It helped him relax. “I found the engine,” he said and smiled. “Just where I suspected it would be.”
    “Uh-huh. And now?”
    “I’m deciding how long I should look at it and pretend I know what I’m looking at before I get back in out of the rain.”
    “You don’t know how to fix your car?” she asked, with such obvious surprise that he bristled.
    “No, I don’t. I also own shoes and don’t have a clue how to tan leather.” He started to yank down the hood, but she raised a hand to hold it open.
    “I’ll take a look.”
    “What are you, a mechanic?”
    “No, but I know the basics.” Elbowing him aside, she checked the battery connections first. “These look all right, but you’re going to want to keep an eye on them for corrosion if you’re spending any time on Desire.”
    “Six months or so.” He leaned in with her. “What am I keeping my eye on?”
    “These. Moisture can play hell with engines around here. You’re crowding me.”
    “Sorry.” He shifted his position. Obviously she didn’t remember him, and he decided to pretend he didn’t remember her. “You live on the island?”
    “Not anymore.” To keep from bumping it on the Jeep, Jo moved the camera slung around her neck to her back.
    Nate stared at it, felt the low jolt. It was a high-end Nikon. Compact, quieter and more rugged than other designs, it was often a professional’s choice. His father had had one. He had one himself.
    “Been out taking pictures in the rain?”
    “Wasn’t raining when I left,” she said absently. “Your fan belt’s going to need replacing before long, but that’s not your problem now.” She straightened, and though the skies had opened wide, seemed oblivious to the downpour. “Get in and try it so I can hear what she sounds like.”
    “You’re the boss.”
    Her lips twitched as he turned and climbed back into the Jeep. No doubt his male ego was dented, she decided. She cocked her head as the engine groaned. Lips pursed, she leaned back under the hood. “Again!” she called out to him, muttering to herself. “Carburetor.”
    “What?”
    “Carburetor,” she repeated and opened the little metal door with her thumb. “Turn her over again.”
    This time the engine roared to life. With a satisfied nod, she shut the hood and walked around to the driver’s side window. “It’s sticking closed, that’s all. You’re going to want to have it looked at. From the sound of it, you need a tune-up anyway. When’s the last time you had it in?”
    “I just bought it a couple of weeks ago. From a former friend.”
    “Ah. Always a mistake. Well, it should get you where you’re going now.”
    When she started to step back, he reached through the window for her hand. It was narrow, he noted,