He opened his mouth, but she kept going. “And my life is not so wonderful right now, in case you didn’t notice.” She closed her eyes against a sharp slice of fear inside her. “Don’t tell me my life is wonderful. You have no idea.”
He sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his wide chest.
“Was it that bad?”
She sat back, nonplussed at the change of tone of his voice, from cold steel to warm compassion. She cupped her hands around the coffee mug.
“You mean the robbery?”
“Yeah.”
She studied him while she thought about what to say to that question. Her friends thought she was losing it. She didn’t even want them to know how freaked out she was by it, how kooky she’d become. She wished she hadn’t burst out like that. “It’s fine,” she finally said. “Never mind my screwed-up life. We need to talk about Maeve. What do you think I should do?”
His thick dark brows drew down over blue, blue eyes. The corners of his mouth dipped. “Hell if I know.” He thrust a hand through his short hair. “I’ll talk to my mom. She and Maeve are best friends. They play bridge together every week. Maybe she’s noticed too. Maybe she has an idea.”
Keara nodded. “I guess I could ask Maeve about it. But I don’t know…”
“Yeah. You could. She might be worried about it herself. Maybe she’s already talked to her doctor about it.”
“Maybe.” But Keara didn’t think so, judging from Maeve’s confused reaction the few times she’d been confronted with her forgetfulness. “I’ll see if I can work it into conversation.”
“You need to keep an eye on her,” Shane said. “If she forgets something like leaving the stove on, it could be dangerous.”
“Oh lord.” Keara bit down on her lip. She looked down into the half-drunk cup of black coffee. “Do you think…she has Alzheimer’s?” She almost choked on the word.
She’d heard the sharp edge of pain in Gary’s voice as he’d said, “She doesn’t even know who I am anymore.” The look on his face. The agony in his eyes that had driven him to…oh dear God. She struggled to get air into her lungs and tears stung the corners of her eyes.
“Keara?”
Her lungs had tightened and she started to feel that whirl of dizziness. No. No. This could not be happening now.
“Keara, are you okay?”
She tried to focus on Shane’s face across the table from her, like looking at him through a wavery glass wall. She pressed her fingertips to her face. “I’m fine,” she choked out.
Shane snorted and the next thing she knew he’d come around to her side of the table and slid into the booth beside her. “Breathe,” he commanded, his voice like smooth whiskey. His arm circled her shoulders and the heat of his body seeped into her, the scent of him—warm, spicy, male—invaded her nostrils and distracted her from her panic. She swallowed, sucked in air. “Yeah. That’s it. Breathe again.”
When mortification replaced anxiety she knew she was doing better. Her cheeks heated to scorching point and she scrubbed her hands over her wet face. “Shit,” she muttered.
“Yeah,” Shane agreed. “Shit.”
His hand rubbed up and down her back and much as she wanted to shrug him away and tell him to get the hell back on the other side of the table, her body responded to his firm but gentle touch. Finally she lifted her head and met his eyes.
“Okay?” he asked in that whiskey-smooth voice.
She gave a jerky nod. He didn’t move back to his seat.
“What triggered that?” he asked quietly.
“Nothing.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Okay. So. We were talking about Maeve.” He kept his gaze fastened on her. “You’re worried she might have Alzheimer’s.”
She swallowed. “Do you think…?”
“I don’t know.”
“How can she run a business if she can’t remember things? What if she forgets to pay her bills? Order stock?”
Shane’s eyes shadowed. “I know. That’s what I’m worried about. I can’t be here all the time. Lord knows I have my own family to worry about.”
She studied him. “What do you mean? Are your parents not okay, Shane?”
She’d met them a few times that summer. Shane’s parents were so much fun—they made every dinner a party, every get-together full of food and drink, music and talk, laughter and love.
His mouth firmed. “Da had a stroke a couple of years ago.”
“Oh no. I’m so sorry…is he okay?”
“He’s alive.” Shane shrugged. “Actually he’s doing very well. But it’s been a long rehab. It’s been pretty hard on both of them.”
“I’m sure it has.” Her heart squeezed. “I didn’t know about that.”
“Why would you? Anyway, now you’ve finally deigned to visit…”
Anger flared inside her and she straightened her spine. “Deigned? Jesus Christ, you really think you’re just perfect, don’t you? I’m sorry I can’t live up to your high standards of perfection, but I have a life and…”
“Shut up.”
She gaped at him.
To her utter shock, he laughed. Laughed! “I shouldn’t have said that but I’d rather see you mad than defeated.”
“What!”
“I know you’re busy. I was about to say, you being here now is good, you can keep an eye on her and see how bad things are.”
“But—” She stopped. She wanted to scream. He could not just push her buttons with those self-righteous, judgmental little comments, and then not let her defend herself. Aaaaargh! She drew in a long, slow breath. “I’ll keep an eye on her. Excuse me.” She lifted her chin in a request for him to move so she could stand and he did. “I’d offer to pay for coffee but I left without my purse.”
“It’s fine. I got it.” He shoved his hand into his front pocket. The gesture was so masculine and sexy it made her stomach flutter. He pulled out a few bills and tossed them on the table. “Let’s go.”
He left her at the door of the shop with a scowl and a muttered “See ya later”. Keara pushed into the store, still seething.
Deep breath, she reminded herself. Luckily Maeve was talking to a customer and she had a few minutes to stand behind the counter, breathing, forcing herself to be rational. This was one of the things Dr. Cogan had mentioned—being irritable, getting angry over little things. Dammit. Even though she knew about it, she just couldn’t seem to help it. And Shane seemed to know just how to push her buttons.
He probably wasn’t doing it on purpose. She repeated that thought over and over. It was just her, overreacting. Guilty conscience, shredded nerves, paranoia…that was her lately. She inhaled another long pull of air, forced a smile as Maeve and the customer approached the counter.
After the customer had left, Maeve turned to Keara, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. “So…how was your coffee with Shane?”
Oh lord. Keara swallowed her sigh. “He’s very annoying,” she muttered.
Maeve lifted a brow. “Hmmm.”
“Hmm what?” Annoyance at Maeve’s tone snapped inside her and she fought to push it down.
“There are sparks between you two,” Maeve observed.
“Ha! Sparks! Yeah, right.”
Maeve’s mouth curved into a wicked smile. “Definitely sparks.”
Thankfully another customer entered the store and they weren’t able to continue that ridiculous conversation.
The man who walked in glanced at them, then quickly away. The hood of his black sweatshirt covered his head and he kept his chin tucked inside the neckline. The sight reminded her of gang members, and a shiver ran through her. Then she rolled her eyes at her own paranoid fear. Someone coming into a sex shop who didn’t want to be recognized was nothing out of the ordinary.
Maeve approached him to ask if he needed any help, but he shook his head and, without meeting her eyes, turned away to inspect the shelves of books.