Free Beside a Dreamswept Sea by Vicki Hinze Page A

smile to her lips, then met his somber gaze. “No. Not at all.”
    “That curl is most persistent.” Leaning on his cane, he reached again to her face.
    So did she. His hand topped hers, and his palm against her knuckles felt warm. Safe and strong and warm.
    Their gazes locked. He took in a healthy breath, then let it out slowly. “You’re very pretty, Cally.”
    She swallowed hard, stretching for sense amid rioting emotions. Problem was, he looked and smelled so good, and he sounded so sincere. He couldn’t be sincere, of course, but he sure sounded it and, to her hungry ears, that was sweet nourishment that fed her fasting soul. “I like your eyes.”
    “You do?”
    “Yeah.” Brilliant. Why had she said that? God, what a conversationalist she was these days. She not only sounded stunned, but like an idiot. He probably thought she was a love-starved fool.
    Maybe she was. That, or crazy. Maybe both. She was here to find courage—well, the peace she’d felt on making that turn in Bangor. What she wasn’t here for was to find a lover. But from the heated looks passing between her and Bryce Richards, she was definitely going to land in trouble if she didn’t keep her hormones straitjacketed.
    Freeing her hand from beneath his, she let it drop, then hang at her side. “Thanks again.”
    He looked torn. About what, Cally had no idea, but it was as if he stood at some mental crossroad. After a long moment, his expression softened. Had he reached some conclusion?
    “Welcome to Seascape, Cally.” He dipped his chin then brushed her lips with his.
    Before she could think, much less move, the fleeting moment had passed: He’d backed away and was limping out of the Great White Room, into the hallway. Her fingertips at her lips, Cally watched him go.
    Why had he kissed her? And why did she wish he’d go on kissing her—doing the job right? And why in the world did he seem so familiar? They’d never met; a corpse couldn’t forget a man who looked like him. And from the quickening pace of her heartbeat and the number of times she’d foolishly blushed in the past few minutes, Cally Tate knew for fact she was certainly no corpse.
    She traced her lips with her fingertips. After what happened with Gregory, she’d never expected to feel like a desirable woman again. But in the simple act of pinning a yellow carnation to her blouse, Bryce Richards had made her feel desirable—and more. And, though she’d longed for that feeling many times, it’d been a while since she’d dared to admit it to herself. Didn’t it just figure that she’d admit it now, when she wasn’t sure she had the courage to risk feeling anything for any man?
    Desirable? Her?
    “You are a love-starved fool.” Cally clenched her fists at her sides. How could she do this? Let herself forget so quickly, so easily, the lessons she’d spent fourteen years learning? Forgetting was dangerous. It invited pain.
    She jerked the end of her scarf. Tugged it loose from her neck, then shook it out. More pain she did not need.

Chapter 5
     
    Bryce sat on the hallway floor, between the Cove and Shell Rooms. Moonlight spilled across the white Berber rug, leaving much of the hall in shadows. It’d been an eventful, chaotic three days since the oatmeal/frog fiasco at breakfast on Cally’s first day at the inn, but they’d made it through them without Mrs. Wiggins resigning again, and for that he was grateful. Now—he looked at the Shell Room’s door behind which his oldest daughter slept—if Suzie could just get through another night without dreaming, he’d end this day too, a happy man.
    The bathroom door creaked open. Cally came out, reached back and removed the little Occupied sign from the nail in the center of the door, then put it back in the bath. Beautiful woman, even in a blue flannel robe that covered her, neck to toes. And no idea she was beautiful. When he’d pinned on her carnation, why had she avoided looking in the mirror? He’d noticed