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She’d been mildly concerned when he didn’t respond to her first text, but Bo was a stranger. She had no idea what his habits were like, whether he was good about replying to his messages or not. She’d thought it was also possible he was busy and not checking his phone. So she’d opened a bottle of wine, continued surfing the internet, and called her brother Jack to pass the time. He was the second oldest in the family, next to her in age, and they’d always been close.
It wasn’t until Bo didn’t answer her second message and then her third that she’d finally set her computer aside so she could go to every room in the cottage that had a window facing the back to see if she could spot his cabin.
There were so many trees in the way that she couldn’t catch even a glimpse of another building until she’d reached the master bedroom. Then she could barely make out the corner of what looked like a small cabin in a copse of trees beyond the garden and was fairly certain that had to be where he was living.
Once she’d spotted it, she’d debated whether to go check on him. She’d told herself that he was obviously a strong man and would be safe enough on his own. But something terrible could happen to anyone, strong or not, and when she’d spotted the tree that’d fallen, she’d been glad she’d checked. She’d been terrified she’d find him hurt, possibly bleeding to death, in the freezing dark, pinned beneath a tree branch or debris from the roof. So she’d felt incredibly relieved when he’d answered the door.
“I would’ve been okay,” he said.
“Maybe. Maybe not. But at the very least, you would’ve been a lot less comfortable.” With his shelter compromised the way it was, he would’ve been cold and miserable. And what if that tree fell any lower? The rest of the roof could cave in! He wouldn’t want to be there if that happened...
She poured him some coffee, offered him cream and sugar, which he declined, and set his cup in front of him.
He thanked her but made no response to her comment. She got the impression that if he’d said something, it would’ve been, “That depends on what you mean by comfortable.” Bo Broussard wasn’t the most social person in the world. That was becoming obvious. He seemed skeptical of others, including her. She could easily guess he preferred to remain on his own, regardless of the risks.
“You hungry?” she asked.
When he opened his mouth to answer, she put up a hand to stop him. “Never mind. You’ll probably say no. You say no to everything.”
“Becauseyescan get you into trouble,” he said.
“In what way?”
“I won’t elaborate.”
He’d initially refused to come to the cottage, even though it was safe and dry and had power. And he’d refused to have a glass of wine with her, agreeing only reluctantly to let her make him coffee when she offered that instead.
“Well,I’mhungry, so I’m going to make pasta carbonara. If you’d like to have some, there’ll be plenty.”
“Pasta carbonara?” he echoed.
“Pasta in a white sauce with pancetta—an Italian bacon—parmesan cheese and peas.”
He let it go at that but watched her warily, as if she could be as unpredictable as a fox or raccoon or other wild animal.
Where had the Windsors found this man? He certainly wasn’t anything like the spoiled, wealthy designer-brand-wearing frat boys who’d gotten off the ferry with her when she’d arrived. Of course, those young men were here to be served; they weren’t among those who’d be doing the serving. But still... The difference was marked. “You told me you were from Louisiana,” she said as she got out a frying pan for the pancetta. “Did you like it there?”
“It has its attractions.”
“What brought you to Mariners?” Although she’d asked once before, she hadn’t gotten much of an answer.
He set his cup on the table. “I came for a lot of reasons.”
When he left it at that, she chuckled. “A lot of reasons? What? Are they all secret?”
He didn’t crack a smile, even though—in her opinion—he couldn’t miss that she’d been joking. “Of course not. I have nothing to hide.”
She studied him more openly. This man was different from anyone she’d met before. He was polite, hadn’t said anything out of line, and yet, he was so guarded. “Okay. So...you came to Mariners because...”
“I knew this place had to have more opportunities than where I come from.”
The pancetta she’d put in the frying pan began to sizzle and pop and fill the kitchen with the sublime smell of frying pork. “What about the uncle who raised you?”
“What about him?”
“He still around?”
“He’s getting old, but he’s still there.”
