Summer Secrets - Barbara Freethy [48]
He scowled at the thought, knowing that he liked her much more than he should. He needed to stay objective and detached; otherwise, he would have no hope of helping his brother.
The sound of an argument brought his head around. About fifty feet away a couple appeared to be arguing heatedly about something. The man tried to pull the woman into his arms, but she pushed him away with a small cry. Tyler tensed. There was no way he would stand by and watch some jerk hurt a woman. He moved closer, assessing the situation as he did so. The woman's back was to him, but he had a clear view of the man. He was older, forties maybe, a rough beard on his face, a tattoo on his right biceps. He was strong, muscled; a man who would be formidable in a fight.
"I can't do this anymore," he heard the woman say.
"You don't have a choice," the man replied, grabbing her arm once again.
"Just let me go."
"You don't want that, Caroline. You know you don't."
Caroline? Tyler's gaze flew to the woman. Sure enough, he recognized that spiky hair. It was Kate's baby sister. He walked quickly down the path. "Everything all right here?" he called.
The couple split apart. Caroline looked upset. The man appeared wary.
"Tyler," she said warily. "What are you doing down here?"
"Jogging. How about you?"
"Me, too," she said.
He wondered how she could have been running in a pair of flip flops and cut-off shorts, but be refrained from commenting.
"Call me later," the bearded man said. "I'll expect to hear from you."
"Sure, whatever."
"Are you all right?" Tyler asked when they were alone. He didn't like the desperate look in her eyes, and even though she shrugged off his comment, he had the feeling she was far from all right.
"You don't have a cigarette, do you? I could really use a hit right now," she said.
"I don't smoke."
"That figures."
"Who was that guy?" he asked.
She started walking down the path the same way he had come. "A friend."
"He didn't look too friendly. What's his name?" He fell into step alongside her.
"Why do you care?"
"It's the reporter in me."
Caroline stopped and rested her elbows on the rail overlooking the boats. "Mike Stanaway," she said. "And I don't appreciate the third degree or the questioning look. I don't need a big brother. I already have two big sisters butting into my business."
"I understand." He leaned on the railing next to her. "There are a lot of boats in the harbor today. Do you still sail?"
"Sometimes."
"But you don't race?"
"Not anymore."
"You don't miss it?"
"Sometimes," she said, repeating her earlier answer with a smile. "Is this the best you've got?"
"Why don't you and your sisters want to talk to me?"
"I'm talking to you right now. I had dinner with you the other night."
"And we talked about the different kinds of clam chowder. You prefer the white over the red."
"Good, you were listening," she said with a laugh, her mood obviously changing. She took in a breath and stretched her arms over her head. "It is a nice day, isn't it? Why can't I just enjoy a beautiful day without wanting more?"
"More what?"
"I don't know. More something. Do you ever feel like there's a hole in your stomach that you can't fill, no matter what you try to do?"
"Every day about four o'clock."
"I'm not talking about food. I'm talking about life."
"I'm not that philosophical. I'm usually too busy."
"Trying to get from one place to the next," she said. "You're not exactly an island-living kind of guy, are you?"
"I haven't been."
She sent him a curious look. "Does that mean this place is growing on you?"
"I make it a rule not to get too attached to any place," he said. "It makes it easier to leave."
"What if you find somewhere you want to stay?"
"I haven't yet."
"You sound