“Wait!” Ethan sputtered. “She asked me to help her!”
He poked his head above the Mustang and then straightened, hands up in an attempt to sell his harmlessness, only to have the next blast slap him in the eye.
Screw this day. Twice.
“Mrs. Angelo!” Rue’s voice cut through the chaos. “Stop!”
The stinging water softened, then ceased, leaving him dripping. And cold. Ethan blinked the water from his lashes. The tiny old woman stood glaring at him, gripping the hose nozzle like it was a pistol. She looked back and forth between him and Rue.
“It’s okay,” Rue said again, her face aghast. “I locked my keys in my car, but I found an open window.” She held up a key. “He was only trying to break into my car because I asked him to. I needed his help.” She ended on a shaky note, her gaze darting between him and his assailant.
Ethan stared, unsure how she’d managed to get through a window in that dress. Then he noticed the heels were gone, and her toenails were the same shade of pink as her lips, the former accessorized in white polka dots, the latter tense with horror.
He realized he was staring and shifted his gaze to the old woman. “So if you could just lower your weapon?”
“You shouldn’t be entertaining like this,” Mrs. Angelo said to Rue, ignoring Ethan. “Pretty single girl like you ought to be looking for a nice young man.” Mrs. Angelo’s eyes cut to Ethan, suggesting he didn’t fit the bill. Probably not. He didn’t know if twenty-eight counted as young—though it probably did to the old woman—but there wasn’t much nice about him. Not since he lost his wife. All three of his brothers had a dedicated habit of informing him that he’d jumped in the grave after Amy, and maybe they weren’t entirely wrong. He was too jaded to be nice.
“Well, Mrs. Angelo, I can’t do anything about being single if I don’t entertain a gentleman or two, now can I? So if you’ll excuse us…” Rue smiled sweetly as she approached Ethan, turning her back on her neighbor to whisper to him, “I am so sorry. Come inside, and let’s get you dried off.”
“I’m fine,” he protested. But she’d already slipped her arm through his and was tugging him in the direction of the house. He was too stunned by the contact to do anything but follow, at least until they got to the porch. When she went for the front door, he untangled from her grip and took a step back. “I appreciate the…hospitality, really, but I’m fine, and you don’t even know me. Not a good idea to bring me into your house.”
“If you were someone I needed to worry about, you wouldn’t be trying to get away from me.” Mischief danced in what he’d decided were the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. “You were soaked because of me. The least I can do is dry your clothes.”
“Actually,” he countered, “the least you could do would be nothing. The sun will dry my clothes. I’m pretty sure a clothesline will vouch for that.” In an epic stroke of bad luck, his body chose that moment for an involuntary shiver. He blamed the shade of her porch, but the cause was moot. All she cared about was fixing the fact that he was cold.
Her eyes narrowed, a now-familiar smile threatening. “Unless you plan on hitching yourself to a clothesline, come inside and use my dryer.”
“I’m pretty sure the sun works even if I’m not attached to a line,” he said wryly. The fact that he was enjoying their exchange irritated him. He tried to revisit that urge to flee, but leaving would put him back on that street, alone with these memories.
And within hosing range of the elderly woman next door.
He averted his eyes from Rue’s. The porch was bare, he noted. No furniture or planters. Not even a bicycle. Though the house appeared to be well-kept, there was nothing but the car in the drive to suggest the place might be occupied. Even the wildly-growing Black-eyed Susans on the side suggested abandonment, as if they, too, felt the need to flee the confines of their bed. A different kind of interest tugged at him—something beyond unwanted attraction. Something more along the lines of whether that car was hers, or if she lived alone, or why it looked as if she didn’t live there at all.