Falling for Grace with Janet W. Ferguson

A scream ripped the air.

Letting out her own scream, she jerked up and swiveled toward the row of majestic homes facing the sea. “Does someone need help?” she called.

To the right of Brooklyn’s house, a flash of movement caught Grace’s eye. She squinted to focus in the bright light. A man in a backwards baseball cap clomped across the next-door neighbor’s deck and ran in her direction down the boardwalk. Wavy caramel brown hair poked out from the edges of the cap. Faded jeans fit his trim form, and the blue T-shirt he wore clung over broad shoulders. Nice. The short sleeves allowed the ripple of a bicep to peek out, too. She should really stop gawking. Where was he running? Was someone drowning nearby?

The man seemed to be aiming at her. “Were you hurt after all?”

“Me?” Grace glanced around to check if the man was speaking to someone else, but the closest group of people was at least three houses down.

“Didn’t you holler for help?” His work boots dug into the sand as he came near and squatted beside her. Light blue eyes bored into hers. “Did you hit your head on a board?”

“Is there a bruise on my face?” She felt around her forehead for a knot or sore spot she’d forgotten.

“You seem out of it.” His voice was silky and caring. A warm voice, if there was such a thing.

“I was enjoying the peace and quiet, then some loud noise scared the life out of me.”

A hearty laugh shook the man’s whole body. “My saw? That’s what this is about?”

“A saw? I thought an animal might be dying.”

“A wee bit dramatic, aren’t we?”

What? “You’re the one who ran down here like a lifeguard on Bay Watch.” An extremely cute lifeguard on Baywatch.

~~~

Something about her made him smile.

Navy eyes stared out from under the lady’s crumpled hat. The pale skies behind her only punctuated the depth of her deeper tone. The color couldn’t be any bluer, like the dark hue of the American flag. Smile lines crinkled the corners of her eyes, though her expression remained serious. A smattering of honey-brown freckles, the same shade as her hair, dotted her perky nose. He resisted the urge to straighten the floppy hat. He should introduce himself instead of grinning like his cousin’s performing poodle. “My name’s Seth. I’m working on a few noisy projects out on that deck.” He pointed toward the neighboring house.

“I’m Grace.”

He quirked a brow before he could stop himself.

“Don’t. Even. I’ve heard that joke my entire life.”

“You mean it’s a perpetual condition?”

“Apparently.” She raised her elbow. “Got the scars to prove it.”

He had a momentary vision of this adorable woman falling off the boardwalk. Only this time he was there to catch her.

Weird. When did he start having out-of-body experiences? He’d been alone for three years, and this kind of crazy reaction had never happened before. The warmth flooding him sent his fingers to scratch at the crew neck of his T-shirt.

“Thank you for your concern. I didn’t mean to interrupt your work.” She seemed to be dismissing him. “I’ll know to expect a lot of racket coming from next door.”

“You’re staying at the Barlows’ house? Are y’all related?” He hadn’t noticed her pull up, and she didn’t look like any of Brooklyn’s usual crew.

“She’s my boss.” Her shoulders slumped, and Grace seemed to shrink a little. The posture incongruous with the smile lines that softened her face. “She loaned me the house for a while.”

More protective instincts kicked in, along with some curiosity. “You’re from Atlanta, then? That’s where I’m from.” Though he hadn’t been back in a while now.

Her head bobbed, and her lip might’ve quivered.

Oh, not a crying woman. His gut twisted. How that tore him up inside, especially when there was no way to make things better. He’d love to tuck tail and run, but a nudge in his spirit held him in place. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

She nodded again and offered a forced smile. “Long day. Long story. Thanks for the concern.”

“You’re welcome. I…I’ll see you later.” He took two side steps before turning away. His work boots sank into the sand, and he trudged back toward the house, his radar for pain sounding an alarm. Like looking in a mirror, he knew heartache when he spotted it.