Free Off Kilter by Donna Kauffman Page B

his curiosity. To that end, she lifted the camera from where it hung around her neck, and continued before he could say anything else. “So, if you’re sure you don’t need or want my help with the bike, or”—she made a general gesture in the direction of his mud-coated self—“I guess I’ll get back to what I was doing.”
    “Which was?”
    “Taking vacation photos,” she said dryly. “For fun.”
    He flashed a grin and the dimple winked out through the drying muck. “You know anything about that? Fun, I mean.”
    She opened her mouth, fully prepared to shoot back an equally smart-ass answer, but instead just let the whole damn thing go and laughed instead. That’s what he made her feel like doing, and it felt surprisingly good. “I used to have a passing acquaintance with the idea, but possibly it’s been a while.”
    “With the kind of work you do, that’s not surprising,” he said, sincere, but not somber about it.
    She appreciated that, and felt shamed again for her rather shabby treatment of him. “Perhaps my journey today will reintroduce me to the concept.” Not true, but at least the intent was to be friendly. The last thing she would have told him was that she was technically on assignment … and while she was energized at the idea that she might have discovered the first step toward mental redemption, she would hardly call the day she had planned fun. Terrifying, portentous, intimidating, maybe. The day’s agenda was nobody’s business but her own.
    “Maybe,” he replied, but sounded dubious. “Where are you headed?”
    “To the shore.”
    “Ah, the abbey and the tower?”
    “In part.”
    “I’m sure you’ll do them better justice than most.”
    The compliment—sincere by the sound of it—caught her off guard. “I—thank you.”
    He shrugged. “Just because we started off on the wrong foot, doesnae mean we have to stay wrong-footed. Does it?”
    There was no charming smile or mischievous twinkle, just a plain, sincerely asked question. So she lifted a shoulder—casually—which belied the sudden pounding of her heart, and said, “No, I suppose it doesn’t.”
    He laughed.
    “What?”
    “You’re a tough one, Tessa Vandergriff.”
    That stung a little, deserved or not. She was all done being under Roan McAuley’s microscope for the day. “Having seen my work, you’d understand that a softie would never make it out there, doing what I do.”
    He walked closer again, almost too close. He studied her for an unnervingly long moment, but she let him, determined not to allow him to get to her. Damn her racing heart. He’d rattledher good, but as soon as she moved on with her day, that moment in time would be forgotten—by her mind if not her body.
    “But you’re no’ as much a hard-arse as ye think.”
    Rather than bristle, she found herself swallowing a bit stronger than was absolutely necessary. “What makes you say that?”
    He lifted his hand toward her. She instinctively flinched away—and hated giving him even that much of a glimpse at just how messed up her instincts were. He wasn’t going to hurt her. Far from it, if his expression was any indication. His eyes widened momentarily, but he let his hand drop rather than push it. “Because you needed this vacation. Or break, or whatever this time here really represents to you. A real hard-arse … the time off wouldn’t have mattered, so why bother?”
    “Maybe that’s why I’m frustrated, because it’s precisely a bother.”
    “And maybe you just wish you were more a hard-arse than you actually are.”
    That was far too dangerously close to the truth she’d been forced to confront the past year. She definitely didn’t appreciate hearing it, ever-so-dismissively, from him. “As you said to me, you have no idea who I am, or what motivates me to do the things I do. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be continuing on with my hike. I hope things work out for you getting into town and getting the bike fixed.