Well, except the girl sitting next to him.
“Better?” she asked, and he nodded.
“Much. I’m still sorry about all this, though.”
She waved a hand — the one that wasn’t holding her beer. “Stuff happens. There wasn’t really any guarantee that we’d find our guy up there anyway. And, like I said on the drive back here, we have a couple of things we can do while we’re waiting for your ankle to heal up.”
Had anyone ever looked as earnest as Laurel Wilcox as she sat there on the sofa, guileless amber-hued eyes fixed on his face, wavy locks of dark hair starting to slide out of their messy bun? Right then, Jason just wanted to pluck the glass from her hand, set down his own beer, and pull her to him in a passionate embrace. He could honestly say he’d never met anyone like her; his Ludlow cousins
