Deep River Promise, Jackie Ashenden [large ebook reader .TXT] 📗

face. “He doesn’t need taking care of. That’s my job. And anyway, you were perfectly happy to leave us to it before.”

“Yeah, but that was before he told me that he knew Cal was his father.”

Astrid let out another long breath as if striving for patience. “Well, I appreciate your concern for him, but honestly, it’s not needed. He’ll be fine. I can tell him about Cal if he wants—”

“If you’d wanted to tell him about Cal,” Damon interrupted, not without gentleness, “you would have done so by now.”

She glanced away. Her mouth had a vulnerable cast to it, a tight expression on her face.

Yeah, there was something about Cal and her relationship with him that hurt. Something that she’d been protecting her son from too, which was presumably why she hadn’t told him.

Cal had told him he hadn’t done the right thing by her. That he’d run. He’d been scared, he’d said, and hell, Damon knew the feeling. He hadn’t been much older than Cal when Rebecca had had Ella. That terror of knowing you were responsible for the life of another human being, and such a small human being too… Worse than any other fear he’d ever experienced and he’d experienced quite a few.

But he hadn’t run, because his mother had taught him to take responsibility for his actions. And besides, he and Rebecca had both wanted Ella very much, even though they’d been young.

Except he wasn’t going to think about Ella. This wasn’t about him, thank God. It was about Astrid and Connor and Caleb. And it seemed very clear that Astrid had complicated feelings about Cal, as well she should considering what he’d done.

Perhaps you shouldn’t be getting interested in her?

Perhaps not. Then again, if he wanted to help Connor, he needed to find out what was going on with Astrid.

She leaned forward in the chair, her elbows resting on her knees, gazing at the ground. Her summer-gold hair fell forward over her shoulders, leaving her nape bare. Her skin was pale and very soft-looking.

“Is he angry with me?” she asked into the silence.

He could have fed her some reassuring lies. But she didn’t strike him as the kind of woman who’d want empty assurances.

“He told me he wasn’t, but I think he was lying.”

Her pretty, golden lashes fell, veiling her gaze.

A beam of sunlight came through the window, falling over her, and she seemed very fragile all of a sudden, as if she was made of spun glass and the slightest of touches would shatter her.

He could feel that sympathy tugging at him even stronger, insistent even. It must have been such a burden to keep Cal’s name secret. She wouldn’t have been able to talk to anyone about it, not here, where Caleb West had been almost a prince.

Which kind of makes Connor his heir, right?

The realization came slowly, like the gradual onset of dawn. Was that why Connor had been so protective? And so suspicious of him? Because he viewed this town as his? Which made Damon a usurper in a way. Silas too, though Silas might be given a pass because Deep River was his hometown.

Yeah, that was logical. It was certainly what Damon himself would feel if he’d been Connor. Poor kid. No wonder he’d been so aggressive and suspicious. He considered this patch his and Damon was trespassing. No, worse than that—Damon now owned it.

Hell, if this didn’t constitute an excuse for a drink, he didn’t know what did.

He turned and went over to where he’d dumped his bag on the bed. Unzipping it, he hunted around inside among the tangle of clothing and various other things until he’d unearthed the bottle of the very good whisky he’d brought with him. He pulled it out, went over to the desk where a couple of glasses sat, uncorked the bottle, and poured a couple of measures into both glasses. Then he picked up one glass and held it out toward Astrid where she sat in the chair near the desk.

“Here,” he said. “You could use this.”

She lifted her attention from the floor, looked at him and then the glass in his hand. Her gray eyes were dark. “No, thank you. It’s still morning.”

“My mother used to say that there was no problem that whisky couldn’t fix.” He raised a brow. “You wouldn’t want to prove my mother wrong, now would you?”

Astrid narrowed her gaze.

“Come on.” He shook the glass a little. “You’re so pale you look like you should be haunting some deserted mansion.”

She let out a breath and shook her head. Then grabbed the glass from his hand, put her head back, and drained the whole lot.

Interesting. He’d thought he’d have to insist more.

“Still morning, huh?” He gave her an inquiring look. “Need another?”

“Why not?” She held out the glass, her gaze not without challenge. “I’ve got nothing but an angry fifteen-year-old, a food co-op to organize, a library to manage, and a pile of suggestions from people who think their beer coaster collection would be a good tourist draw. Got plenty of time to drink whisky with a complete stranger.”

Color had returned to her cheeks and that fragile look was dissipating, those pretty eyes of hers turning back into steel.

Good. That was better than that lost expression she’d given him.

He smiled. “Hey, I’m not a complete stranger, remember? I introduced myself and you shook my hand. But now that I remember, you never introduced yourself to me.”

She frowned. “What?”

“I said, ‘Are you Astrid?’ and you said, ‘Yes.’ You never actually introduced yourself formally.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? Not sure I want to have too many more ‘complete stranger’ accusations leveled at me.” He was teasing her, which probably wasn’t a good idea all things considered, but he couldn’t resist. Especially when she frowned at him like that. “Come on, Ms. Mayor. Introduce yourself.”

She raised an eyebrow, getting slightly haughty. “You can’t be serious.”

Her cool tone and that expression shouldn’t have rippled through him the way it did, a silent dog whistle