Promptly the picture morphed into his dilapidated childhood home, Crickitt wearing his mother’s worn apron, Shane carrying a battered red and white Igloo cooler. He watched their lives fast-forward from wedding to baby. Shane returning home half drunk from the bar after work, Crickitt exhausted but working tirelessly as a mother and a teacher.
The baby grew into a toddler who burned his arm on Dad’s cigarette, then to a ten-year-old who busted up both knees falling out of the bent tree in the backyard. And, finally, into a misbehaving teenager who sneaked out of the house to cause mischief with his best friend.
By the time he pictured Crickitt climbing into the family station wagon to pick up their son, bone-chilling fear gripped his heart with icy fists.
The ambulance. The hospital. The wheelchair. The deep sadness permeating the house the weeks before she’d died. The argument between mother and son, Shane leaving in a huff. Coming home to find the swirling lights of the paramedics in his driveway. His father’s accusatory glare. His mother’s cold, still body.
Loving Crickitt was one thing. But building a life with her, seeing her day in, day out, coming to rely on her, need her. Becoming entrenched in her.
He couldn’t do it.
Even knowing he’d never ever, ever treat his child the way his father had treated him, he still couldn’t do it. If he lost Crickitt, if their son lost his mother, how could Shane be sure her death wouldn’t rock the kid’s foundation? Scar him for life?
He couldn’t.
Life held no guarantees. Crickitt could die tomorrow. His mother died when she was his age now, his aunt fought for her life this very minute. His father died at fifty-five.
If he expected the same fate, that gave Shane, what? Twenty-some years, tops?
He’d known since his mother died he was alone. Terminal bachelorhood wasn’t the most appealing prospect on the planet, but it was a hell of a lot safer than the alternative.
Henry must have caught Shane grousing down at his glass because a moment later, he offered a refill. At his insistence, the bartender poured another nip and Shane lifted his drink. He didn’t want it, but the shake in his hand suggested he might need it.
Crickitt’s rich, velvet laughter sliced into the air, and he looked over to see Big Neck stroke meaty fingertips over her bare shoulder.
Shane started to lift from his chair to intercede, but Crickitt shrugged off the man’s hand as smoothly as she’d unlinked hers from Shane’s earlier.
“Mr. and Mrs. Townsend, thank you for a lovely evening.” She directed her gratitude toward their hosts behind the bar. “I’m afraid I’ll have to call it a night.”
“Absolutely, dear,” Hildy said. “Jean is inside. She’ll show you to your room.” Hildy made a shooing motion to Shane. “Walk her in. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”
Shane didn’t miss the scowl the man sent him from the other side of the bar. He rose, sending a smug smile in the man’s direction and joined Crickitt, pressing a palm to her back as they headed for the mansion. “Sharks are in the water,” he murmured into her hair.
She laughed, and the sound tore at his heart. Despite his reassuring speech earlier, he was already questioning his logic. Was loving her from afar really any better?
“I think Hildy sent you to protect me. That guy probably would have followed me inside.” Crickitt emulated a shudder.
He opened the door and she stepped inside, pulling away from his palm. He missed the feel of her but stuffed his hand in his pocket anyway.
Jean led them to the second floor. Fate, or Hildy’s hapless matchmaking, he wasn’t sure which, placed them in side-by-side rooms.
“Your luggage has been delivered,” Jean instructed. “Toiletries and fresh towels are in your rooms. The bathroom is at the end of the hall.”
Jean left and Crickitt hovered in her doorway, admiring the lush furnishings within. “Beautiful. Every inch of this place.” She waved a hand. “I suppose this highly catered-to lifestyle is all very banal to you,” she said, the hint of a smile teasing her lips.
“You know me, born with a silver spoon.”
Crickitt shook her head, her smile slipping. “That’s not true.” She slipped her hand into his and squeezed. “You’re the least spoiled person I know, Shane.”
It was enough to make him go back on everything he’d decided moments ago. No one got him like this woman did. No one knew him the way she did. But when he opened his mouth, he changed the subject. “You, uh, really impressed everyone tonight. Thank you, by the way.”