Page 22 of Out of Time (Undaunted Courage #3)

TWELVE

HALFWAY DOWN THE PATH behind Natalie’s house, Brad paused.

It wasn’t really necessary to visit Cara in her cottage. Natalie could tell her the news he’d shared about Micah.

Maybe he should forget this idea.

“If the opportunity comes along to find love again, don’t add passing it by to your list of regrets.”

As Larry’s counsel replayed through his mind, Brad exhaled.

He wasn’t anywhere close to falling in love with Cara. The two of them were just getting acquainted.

But his people instincts had always been sound. That’s why he’d known almost from the get-go that Elizabeth was destined to be his wife.

And Cara had triggered that same instinct during their first meeting, even if he’d tried to ignore it at the time.

Acting on that instinct too fast, however, would be out of character for a man who never let emotion overrule logic—a personality trait that had served him well in his work, and would also serve him well with Cara.

Larry was spot-on, though. Ignoring the opportunity that had appeared, unbidden, on his doorstep would be foolish. He owed it to himself to at least explore the possibilities with the lovely historical anthropologist.

That’s why he had to double down on dealing with his guilt. Acknowledge emotionally what he’d begun to accept intellectually. That maybe the burden he’d shouldered for what had happened that night was too heavy. That perhaps his selfishness hadn’t been the sole cause of the tragedy.

Taking a deep breath, he put his feet in gear again and continued toward the cottage.

As he approached, he caught a glimpse of Cara through the front window.

Once again, his step faltered.

She was wearing a form-fitting top and yoga pants, one leg elevated behind her in an impossibly high position, a pink, flat-toed ballet slipper visible above her head as she rested one hand on the back of a chair beside her. Then she straightened up, executed a spin, and disappeared from view.

Whoa.

Who would have guessed the professor was also an accomplished ballerina?

Brad hesitated.

Should he backtrack? Leave her to her dancing? Barging in on what felt like a very private ritual seemed somehow too personal.

The decision was taken out of his hands, however, when she twirled back into view and came to a stop facing his direction. Her eyes widened, and she grabbed the back of the chair again.

Unless he wanted her to think he was a voyeur, he’d have to continue to the cottage and tell her the impetus for his visit.

He started forward again.

She pulled the door open as he approached, her cheeks flushed. From exertion—or being caught in ballerina mode?

No way to know.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to invade your—”

“Wait.” She held up a finger. “Let me turn off the music.”

Music?

The only sound trilling through the quiet air was the chirp of a cardinal in a nearby tree.

Cara vanished but returned seconds later, shrugging into a loose-fitting shirt that covered the skinny straps of her top and the broad expanse of creamy skin it had exposed.

“I stream music from my phone directly into my processors. Wireless technology is a godsend for activities like dancing. What were you saying before?”

“Just that I, uh, didn’t want to invade your space, but I have news about Micah. I shared it with Natalie, and she can pass it on if you’d rather continue what you were doing.”

“I was wrapping up, and I’d like an update.” She glanced behind her, brow knitted. “The place is kind of a mess. I push everything aside for my dancing. Would you mind if we sit out here?” She motioned to two plastic patio chairs in front of the cottage.

“That would be fine.”

“Give me a minute to change my shoes.” She disappeared back inside, closing the door behind her.

He continued forward, claiming one of the chairs.

When she reappeared two minutes later, she was wearing sport shoes. The shirt had also been buttoned and hung long over her hips.

She sat beside him. “I hope you found some answers about Micah.”

“A few.” He tried to shift gears. Erase the images of her supple movements and long legs and graceful arms.

It wasn’t easy.

So despite the fact that his memory needed no prompting, he pulled out his notebook and redirected his attention to the scribbles he’d jotted during his conversation with Rod.

“After ruling out any other kind of medical event as a cause of death, the coroner is going with drowning, pending the toxicology results. Best estimate on time of death is sometime between six a.m. and noon on Sunday. Micah had a gash on his head, deep enough to potentially cause unconsciousness. One theory is that he lost his balance and fell backward in the boat, hit his head, tumbled into the water, and drowned.”

“One theory? Are there others?”

He flipped the notebook closed as a squirrel scampered past, acorn in mouth, intent on its task to store reserves for the coming winter. No ambiguity there.

If only life were that simple.

“Sorry.” Cara leaned toward him a hair. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I assume you can’t discuss active investigations.”

“No apology necessary. And I doubt it will be active for long. The tox screen won’t be back for weeks, but I didn’t find any evidence of drugs or drinking in Micah’s cabin. I expect it will be clean. Accidental drowning may end up being our only theory.”

Despite the questions he hadn’t been able to answer.

Like, why were Micah and the boat together, on the shallow, marshy side of the lake? The odds that the man had rowed into grass and reeds were small, and while the boat could have drifted there, the body should have sunk wherever Micah fell into the water.

And why had there been a smear rather than rivulets of blood running down the side of the boat where he’d theoretically hit his head?

Yes, he could have touched his head before he lost consciousness, groped for the boat as he flailed in the water, but there’d been no blood on the cuff of his long-sleeved shirt to suggest his wrist had come into contact with his head if he’d reached for his wound.

“You seem troubled.”

At Cara’s comment, he refocused on the conversation. “I was thinking about a few pieces that don’t quite fit for me.”

“Ones you can discuss?”

“Not at this stage.”

“Understood.” She didn’t appear to be in the least put out by his reticence.

“The coroner did release the body, which means we can proceed with Micah’s wishes for his remains. I found a Bible in his cabin, so Natalie is going to read a passage before the ashes are scattered. I have a friend with a golf cart who offered to bring it by, and I’ll drive her down to the lake.”

Admiration—and perhaps something more—radiated from her. “That’s very kind of you.”

“It feels like the right thing to do.”

“I’m sure Natalie appreciates it. I was planning to attend too. A committal with no witnesses would be sad.”

“Yeah.” He swallowed. “It’s sad enough even when a crowd shows up.”

Her eyes softened. “I get the feeling you’re speaking from personal experience.”

He took a slow, shaky breath.

It would be easy to shut down this conversation. Avoid the hard stuff. All he had to do was stand up, make a generic comment about death always being sad, and use his busy schedule as an excuse to flee.

Instead, he remained seated beside this woman who radiated compassion and quiet understanding. Who was nursing an injured rabbit back to health, according to Natalie. Who planned to show up for the final disposition of a man whose solitary life had touched her heart.

Maybe it was time to tell her his history, and to share with her the grief and angst and guilt that had been his constant companions.

All he had to do was summon up the courage to reveal his secrets—and hope she didn’t blame him for ending two lives far too soon, as he’d blamed himself for three long years.

Beside him, Cara started to rise. “Sorry again. I didn’t—”

“Wait.” Brad reached out to restrain her. If he wasn’t willing to talk, she’d walk away. Possibly forever. And he couldn’t take that risk. “I was thinking about how to respond to your comment.”

After a tiny hesitation, she settled back into her chair. “Sometimes I have a tendency to ask too many questions. Comes with being a researcher, I suppose.”

“Or a sheriff.” He forced up one side of his mouth.

She played with the hem of her shirt, fingering a loose thread. “In the interest of full disclosure, Natalie mentioned once that you weren’t married anymore, and that it was a sad situation. I wondered if you were divorced. Now I’m thinking your story is even sadder than a broken marriage.”

He watched two chipmunks dash across the lawn in a game of tag. “Yes, it is. And it’s not one I talk about often.” Like never.

“I understand if you’d rather—”

“No.” He looked over at her. “I’d like to tell you what happened, if you can spare a few more minutes.”

“I can spare all afternoon, if that’s what you need. I know how important it is to have someone to talk to when you’re hurting.”

As pain pooled in her irises, his stomach contracted. It seemed he wasn’t the only one with heartache in his past.

“It sounds like you have a story of your own.”

She toed aside a shriveled, dead leaf. “I do, and it’s not a pretty one. Someday I may share it with you. But this afternoon I’m more interested in hearing yours.”

Soul baring hadn’t been on his agenda today. Yet it was a logical next step if he wanted this relationship to progress beyond the superficial. Plus, if he gave her a peek into his heart, it was possible she’d eventually reciprocate ... and open the door to deeper sharing.

Transferring his focus to a broken branch off to the side behind her so sound would be directed her way but he could avoid eye contact, he plunged in.