Secrets in the Sand by Carolyn Brown

            He took her hand and smiled into her eyes. “I’m Quinn. Thanks for the welcome, unconventional as it was.”

            His touch ignited something inside her: a tiny flame she thought had been extinguished. A flame that needed to stay extinguished until she gained some control over her life. She withdrew her hand. “I’d better get back.”

            She hobbled barefoot over the stick-covered ground toward the crumpled fence. Without the flood of adrenaline that had propelled her here, the skinned-up soles of her bare feet flinched at every step.

            His hand at her elbow offered support. “Are you okay?”

            She smiled up at him. “Yep, yep, yep. I always run around barefoot in briars. You should see the soles of my feet. Tough as shoe leather.” Her mind cringed at her runaway mouth. Shut up. Shut. Up.

            He escorted her to the fence and helped her step over. Georgia slipped through a gap underneath.

            “I’m very sorry that Elijah trespassed onto your property and knocked you down. I owe you a granola bar.”

            He grinned. “Chocolate chip, please.”

            From their respective sides of the fence, Abby stretched the crumpled wire while Quinn straightened the bent metal posts. Working together, they reattached a few fence clips, but most had been lost to the dirt. “This should hold for now,” she said. “I’ll fix it for real later.”

            “I’ll be happy to help. Just let me know when.”

            “Thanks. I will.” All she wanted right now was to stagger inside, doctor her damaged feet, and sort out the swirl of emotions that had been stirred up by her aunt’s sexy new neighbor.

            ***

            Quinn trudged to the pool house, pressing a fist into the knotted muscles surrounding his lower spine. Much as he appreciated the appearance of his surprisingly attractive neighbor (or neighbor’s niece…whatever), he could have done without the equine attack that prompted the meeting.

            He chuckled at the memory of Abby’s barefooted ferocity—ready to do battle in Daffy Duck boxers and a barely there tank top. With her hazel eyes flashing, her cheeks on fire, and a wild cloud of honey-brown hair tumbling over her shoulders, she tempted him to forget how much damn trouble women could be.

            In the bathroom, he lowered his boxer-briefs, then twisted around in front of the mirror to assess the damage. Black-and-blue hoofprints marred his lower back. His left butt cheek sported burgundy-and-purple bite marks.

            “Admiring your backside?”

            At the snide tone of his ex-wife’s voice, Quinn snatched up his jeans so quickly his underwear rolled into an uncomfortable wad around his hips. He met her dark eyes in the bathroom mirror. “Melissa, I don’t recall inviting you in.” And he had never admired his backside. Hers, yes. That was what had gotten him into this whole mess—the mess that was his life—in the first place.

            He reached back and slammed the bathroom door in her face. She’d rejected him, not the other way around. But that didn’t mean she could sashay back into his life whenever she took a notion. “What are you doing here?” he yelled through the closed door.

            “I can’t have Sean coming here until I know it’s safe.”

            Until she knows it’s safe. Right. As if he’d do anything to endanger his own son, who at fifteen was nearly as tall as Quinn and could handle himself in any case. Quinn readjusted his underwear and buttoned his jeans. Following his therapist’s advice, he closed his eyes and counted ten cleansing breaths before he wrenched open the bathroom door.

            Dressed to impress in a pinstriped girl-suit that impressed him more than he wished it did, Melissa stood with a smirk on her expertly painted face. “You look like hell.”

            Another deep breath allowed him to walk past his ex-wife into his small but clean kitchen. With determined civility, he poured water on the fireworks she seemed equally determined to ignite. He knew he had a lot to atone for, so as his therapist suggested, he let her snarky comments slide. They both had to work through their anger and resentment in whatever way worked for them.

            For him, it was a determination to keep his mouth shut in the short term. In the long term, he planned to make a fortune he could flap in her face like a red flag.

            For her, it was a determination to show him what he was missing in the short term. In the long term, she planned to get along better without him than she had with him.