Sea Glass Sunrise Read Online Free

damaged vehicle.
    Calder stepped in to help, but stopped short when she straightened and lifted a hand to stall him. So, still a little Ms. Independent. He caught sight of her stiffening shoulders. Maybe more than a little.
    “You’ll have to forgive her,” Hannah said. “She’s—that’s Fiona—she’s an interior designer by profession and in charge of planning our brother’s wedding, so she’s got a million details on her mind at the moment. And then I go and get in an accident. She’s usually not that rude or scatterbrained.”
    Calder wisely kept his opinion to himself. “Just being protective of her family. Nothing wrong in that. Why don’t we get you over to the paramedic or the ER if you’d rather go there, and we’ll let your sister handle calling in for the tow.”
    Hannah surprised him by merely nodding. “Thank you. I appreciate that. I’ll need to call Beanie, too.”
    “Who’s Beanie?” It surprised him that he actually wanted to know.
    “The owner of the sign I just took out. Her husband built it and hand-painted it.” She looked over at the pile of shattered planks. “I feel awful about ruining it.”
    “Sounds like the kind of guy who wouldn’t mind making another one. I’m sure it will be fine.” He motioned toward his truck. “Is there anything you need from your car?” He lifted a hand. “I’ll get it, just tell me.”
    “He can’t make another one,” she said instead. “He passed away last year. That’s why I feel awful.”
    Calder stopped and looked at her, and saw she was on the verge of tears. And likely not the sweet trickle of a single tear sliding down a pale cheek, either. He didn’t know her, but despite his earlier rush to judge—okay, maybe his ongoing rush to judge—something told him she wasn’t a crier. Something also told him that it probably wasn’t the sign that had her feeling suddenly undone. Maybe it was all of it, the accident, her brother getting married, and now adding to her sister’s list of worries. Maybe the sign was simply the final straw. He didn’t know. And he shouldn’t care.
    “Come on,” he said, gently taking her elbow, but keeping his hand there when she would have pulled away. “We’ll get it all figured out.”
    She was taller than he’d initially thought when she’d been in the car. Somewhere around five-nine, maybe five-ten. He didn’t know what kind of heels she had on, but, regardless, she wasn’t much shorter than he was, and he came in at six-one. Lithe and lean, not much in the curves department, either. That much he’d accurately ascertained from his blouse assessment earlier.
    She paused as she noted the sign on the side of his truck. “Blue Harbor Farm.” She looked back at him. “I thought you said you were a contractor.”
    “I am. Family business. Fourth generation.”
    “And the farm?”
    “First generation,” he said with a smile.
    “You?”
    He nodded.
    “Sounds like a lot to juggle.”
    “If you ask my father, it’s a waste of time and money. If you ask my brothers, a hobby that got a little out of control.”
    “And if I asked you?”
    He kept his smile in place, but his answer was serious and heartfelt. “The thing that kept me sane through a hellacious divorce.” His smile grew slightly. “Continues to keep me sane working with family.”
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “About the . . . hellacious part.” She waved a hand briefly, but said no more. She held his gaze, then looked at the sign again, more, he thought, for somewhere else to look. Other than at him. He wasn’t sure what she’d seen in his expression, but banged up or not, she seemed a pretty sharp sort. So probably . . . too much.
    He saw her eyebrows lift. “Calais?” she said. “You’re a long way from home.”
    “Not that far. Hour and fifteen to the company office, hour-forty-five to the farm.”
    “Unique town, Calais. Sort of umbilically attached to Saint Stephen across the border in New Brunswick, right?