There was nothing else to do but pin her shoulders back, lower the crowbar, and use what little scraps of dignity Delila could pull around herself.

Somehow, if she'd thought they'd ever meet again, this wasn't how she'd pictured the reunion. Although, the weapon was handy, in a pinch.

She rubbed her forehead and glanced out in the darkness where the hush and whisper of the bay waves played along her frayed nerve endings. There was something—someone—out there, but it was stupid to think Finn had anything to do with her recent troubles.

And yet, his timing couldn't have been more suspect.

Delila licked her lips knowing she needed to invite him in not because she wanted him inside the house, but because she wanted to close the door on whatever laid in wait outside. Safety was more important than her current discomfort as she leaned the crowbar against the wall and crossed her arms beneath her chest.

"You better come inside. It's cold."

"Since I technically own the place, that would be nice."

Was he smiling? The sarcasm was a touch teasing, enough to warrant his usual good ol' boy grin. She couldn't tell his facial expression with the moonlight giving way back to shadows, but she pushed away any part of her that cared. Finn cleared his throat and looked at the floor before groping in the darkness, his whole upper body strained toward something to her left.

"What..." she breathed out, unsure but moving toward a light to help him.

"No. Stop." She'd taken two steps toward a light switch before the pure anguish in his tone rooted her to the floorboards. "Just stop, okay?"

Though she didn't turn around, she sensed his struggle. But if he chose for her not to see him do whatever needed to be done, she would respect his wishes until it became necessary to ignore them.

What kind of bomb had fate dropped on her doorstep? It was too late at night to deal with such intensity. The presence was still out there, she only had to glimpse into the murky darkness as her fists clenched.

Finn groaned and his head fell back against the door judging by the sound of things. All she wanted to do was shut and bolt the door—which meant his pride had to take a backseat to safety.

"Do you need help?" She didn't turn yet, allowing him to take control of the charged situation. "We need to get you inside. It isn't...we can't take any chances here."

Finn's mutter barely made it up to her ears before she covered the small distance between them and knelt down at his eye level. She raised her eyebrows in question. Though she doubted he could see her expression between the darkness and with his gaze firmly planted elsewhere.

Her small, shaky breaths brought the scent of a summer storm through the open doorway, a prickle of electricity in the air that gave her every reason to be paranoid. Worry climbed up her body as if she were a trellis, tightening her muscles from the tips of her toes to her jaw.

Without warning Finn's unshakable stare locked with hers—as intense as the last second they'd breathed in the same air back in high school—until Delila wasn't sure she could breathe. A flash of lightning shot through the sky, illuminating the interior room, and she stifled a small noise.

Within the stormy gray of Finn's irises was shrouded an unexplainable passion. His tension radiated a frustration that words couldn't define. Night crept across his body, snatching away bits and pieces of him that were familiar to her and yet, not, all thanks to the passage of time. But Delila couldn't tear her eyes away from the haunting emotion that rested in the deep pools of his irises.

"I need you to give me my cane." His low voice caught and grated on each syllable.

Without another word she fumbled across the dark floor. Until her fingertips made contact with the smooth metal handle and she held the cane out for him to take, rather than showing him the indignity of resting it across his lap as if there was something wrong with his arms as well.

She choked on the need to ask if he needed anything else. Because, despite the resurfacing of several years' worth of humiliation, heartbreak, shock, and long buried hope—the last thing she wanted to do was kick a man while he was down. As if Finn Cort stepping across her rental threshold was an everyday occurrence, Delila straightened and smoothed out her expression, with every intention of taking sanctuary in the kitchen.

"I'm up, so I'm going to make some coffee. Shut the door and throw the deadbolts, please." Delila turned away, fighting the urge to be a caretaker with every step. The last thing she needed was to become more involved. But she couldn't keep completely silent as she walked into the kitchen. "And I hope you're going to give me some well-earned answers to make up for the hours of sleep I'll be losing tonight."

What good would it do if she hovered? Somehow she doubted his pride could take a beating, even with the magnetic strength that radiated from his lean, chiseled body. Even after all these years...

"Ouch!" She yanked back her scalded hand from the stream of water where she was filling the coffee pot. Another stream of curses spouted out of her mouth about the antique piping system and her inability to stay on track. "Now isn't the time to get your ogle on."

She should be livid about the third party rental place failing to notify her that a man owned the property that housed her battered women's shelter, Open Hands, Open Hearts. Even worse was the fact that her injured, ex-high school sweetheart was that man. A man she never wanted to see again.

After dating for over eight months he'd asked her to meet him in the school parking lot on a breezy fall day during a class Delila normally skipped—even without his extra incentive which turned her stomach into a cluster of butterflies. Something had been off all day. Finn had been in his own little world, barely acknowledging her when they hung out between classes in the hallway. He hadn't pushed her away, but his kisses were empty. Even his tone was strained, as if he balanced on an edge she couldn't see or understand.

He was late. He was never late.

When he did show up in the parking lot he was flushed, flustered, and stumbled so hard when he confessed everything she nearly fell flat on her ass to the pavement when she'd sorted all the facts out in her head. Nothing made sense anymore.

He'd signed his life away to the Army—because a girl he'd slept with before he was ever with Delila had secretly had his baby. She'd finally come clean more than a month ago and Finn had kept his secret to himself so he could figure out the best way to handle the situation.

She still remembered the regret hollowing out his cheekbones, eyes shiny with unshed tears.

But he'd straightened his back under the weight of his decision. It was noble. The right thing to do especially for a boy who came from the foster care system. With no parents to speak of he'd been raised with his two twin brothers by an older woman who'd probably agreed enlisting was the best choice for his future. A solid way to provide for his new family.

When she'd asked to see the kid, there was no question. She had Finn's nose and his small right dimple when she smiled in the picture he'd shown her in his wallet.

The worst part was knowing her broken heart was because the love of her life was doing the right thing. A choice she had to accept. Anything else would be unforgivable and selfish.

But that hadn't made it any easier. Nor had it done anything to wipe away her bitterness.

Delila jammed the coffeepot under the spout and rummaged through the drawer where she kept the coffee.

"I'll take it as caffeinated as you can get it."

Her fingers scrambled back from the drawer and she jumped backward at the sound of his voice. A rush of adrenaline zinged through her veins and she pivoted with a dirty look in Finn's direction. He was sitting at the island, still as stone, wearing a half-smile. Delila flexed her fingers and glided her tongue along her lower lip, silently pleading for patience. It would also be a lot easier if she wasn't wearing nothing but a nightgown.

"You surprised me first, remember?"

"Fair enough," She begrudgingly admitted while behind her the coffeemaker hissed and spit, a promise of something more soothing. She crossed her arms as they stared at each other across the kitchen island. "So, you're back."

"I am."

"Any particular reason?"

"I was honorably discharged a week ago. Kind of comes with the territory of having a bum leg. I came back to get my bearings until I could come up with another plan of attack."

"You couldn't have called?" Delila turned to grab the mugs from the top cupboards, going on tiptoe before she could reach them. A nice beat where she could relax the tension in her face. "Does your mother know? You plan on visiting her while you're here?"

"You wanted me to call my own house?"

She decided to ignore the fact that he'd completely ignored her previous question. In light of recent...changes...he probably wasn't too eager to see the woman who'd raised him and his brothers. But she could hope that he'd called them, at least. They deserved to know what was going on, even if his explanation was less than satisfactory.

"If you're asking what I really, really wanted, Finn, I really, really wanted to know that you owned this place before I moved here. There are very important people who are counting on this farm. Your presence complicates things."

"You aren't giving me much in a way of explanation to motivate me to find a hotel. I'll only be around for a few days, until I can get myself situated in an apartment in town or find something to occupy my time. Trust me, I like being here less than you like having me."

"What about your brothers? Stay with one of them," she pressed fiddling with one of the mugs.

"No one knows I'm back yet."