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

to the rogue inside him. The one that very much enjoyed teasing a pretty woman and much to their mutual satisfaction.

“I am,” he said. “Deadly. You really want me to keep calling you Ms. Mayor? Or should I try ‘Your Honor’ instead?”

“Don’t be silly.” She shook her empty glass at him, refusing to give in. “Just fill it up, please.”

“Nope. You want more whisky, you have to give me some manners.”

She rolled her eyes, doing a good impression of her teenage son. “Oh, fine.” Sitting up, she arranged her expression into one of polite, professional welcome. “Hello. I’m Astrid James, town librarian and current mayor of Deep River. Pleased to meet you.” And she extended her hand again.

Damon knew he shouldn’t take it; given that faint crackle of electricity he’d gotten off her when he’d shaken her hand earlier, it wouldn’t be good idea. But like he couldn’t resist a tease, he couldn’t resist a touch either.

She was pretty and cool and strong, and there was a spark in her that he liked. All in all, a combination that was pretty much his catnip.

So he took her hand, giving her his long, slow smile as he did so. “Pleased to meet you, Astrid.”

A faint wash of pink stained her cheekbones, and for a second, her eyes glittered like stars. Her hand felt small in his, her skin warm, and he experienced the oddest urge to stroke his thumb against her palm just to see what she would do.

Abruptly, she pulled her hand away, but the pink in her cheeks remained. “There,” she said. “Now you’re not a complete stranger and neither am I. Can we get to the whisky, please?”

He grinned and reached for the bottle, pushing away the warmth of her skin lingering on his palm and the delicious crackle of electricity that whispered through him.

Because he couldn’t take this any further, even though he was tempted. A tease, sure. A couple of smiles here and there, but nothing more. They both had more than enough on their plates without making this even more complicated.

Picking up the whisky bottle, he leaned over and topped up her glass.

“So where’s Connor now?” she asked, sitting back in the chair and taking another sip of the alcohol. “Did you send him home?”

Damon put the bottle back on the desk, then leaned against it. He picked up his glass, cradling it in one hand, swirling the liquid. A good Scottish single malt, his mother’s favorite.

“That’s where he said he was headed.”

Connor had clammed up pretty quickly after he’d asked Damon about Cal. As if he’d regretted telling him. Damon probably shouldn’t have pushed him with the questions—it had been too much, too fast—because the boy had turned away, flinging “I’m going home” behind him as he’d stalked off back toward the ferry.

That’s when Damon had made the decision to stay, watching the boy’s tall, gangly figure leave, trailing hurt and anger behind him like a cloud.

Astrid shook her head and took another sip of her whisky. “He won’t be there. He’ll have gone off to do something else, like helping Phil build fences and Harry build his bunker, no doubt.”

There was a note of resignation in her voice, a trace of weariness. He could see it in the slight smudges beneath her eyes too.

She was worried for her son.

“Has he been doing this a lot?” Damon asked. “Helping people out?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “It feels ridiculous to complain about it, but he’s been skipping school to do it.”

That made sense if Damon’s theory about Connor viewing himself as the town’s heir held true. Of course he’d want to help. Especially given the oil situation hitting the town. He’d be worried about people, worried about what was going to happen, and he no doubt viewed the entire town as his responsibility now that his father was dead.

He wouldn’t want that responsibility given to a bunch of people he didn’t know, even if one of them had been born here. He’d come to Deep River after Silas had already left, after all.

Hell, the responsibility that kid must feel he had to shoulder had to be crushing.

Probably a good idea to tell her that?

Yeah, it was never a great situation to have to tell a parent your theories about their child who you’d only just met. Then again, Damon had once been a teenage boy himself, with a single mom who’d worked very hard and whom he felt responsible for.

He didn’t want to interfere with Astrid and her son, but Cal had given him a mission and he wasn’t going to walk away from it. Not yet at least.

“I have a theory about that,” he said. “Want to hear it?”

* * *

The whisky sitting in Astrid’s stomach was giving her a nice glow and her hand was still tingling from the warm, firm grip of Damon’s fingers.

And he was leaning against the desk, cradling his own glass, the sun falling across his dark brown hair, striking sparks of gold and caramel from it. His sky-blue eyes were fixed on her, and there was a heat in them that made something quiver deep down inside her.

A faint smile curved his beautifully carved mouth, warm and sympathetic, making her want to wrap herself up in it like she would a cozy blanket when it was cold.

He was so ridiculously attractive, and she shouldn’t even be noticing, not when all of this Connor stuff was happening. Aiden had been attractive too, and charming to boot, and look how that had turned out.

Beneath the glow of the whisky sat guilt and the edge of a familiar bitterness. She’d made a lot of mistakes over the years, but she’d thought she’d done better since she’d come to Deep River. Yet clearly not. She should have said something to Connor about Cal. Connor clearly hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her about the letter he’d received, and maybe that was her fault.

You knew this would come back to bite you at some stage.

Yeah,