Hello Stranger (The Ravenels, #4)

by Lisa Kleypas

The detective stopped in his tracks, throwing a baleful glance over his shoulder. “Considering what he intended to do to you, it’s lucky he is to be breathing.”

brief chuckle escaped her. “I will let you carry this,” she offered, “if you’ll speak to me in your real accent.”

His smile lingered. “Ah, but that’s the price of it, if you want to hear an Irish brogue. You’ll have to put up with a bit o’ sweetheartin’.” “Sweethearting?” Disconcerted, Garrett resumed walking. “Compliments to your charm and beauty.”

believe that’s called blarney,” she said crisply, “and I beg you to spare me.” “’Tis a clever, stirring woman you are,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard her, “and to be sure I have a weakness for green eyes—” “I have a cane,” Garrett reminded him,

She couldn’t decide whether to thank him or bash him over the head.

linger in that way he had, until the vehicle

Feeling slightly dazed, Garrett looked down at the object he’d given her. The silver whistle, slightly warm from the heat of his body. What nerve, she thought . . . but her fingers closed gently around it.

Garrett’s gaze traveled from the broad shoulders down to the slim hips, and then even lower to his thickly muscled thighs. As it occurred to her that she was staring, she glanced upward, and blushed like a schoolgirl as she met his questioning gaze. “I was just noting the unusual development of your quadriceps extensors,” she said in her professional voice. His lips twitched. “Are you paying me a compliment, doctor?” “Certainly not.

To this day, when I see a woman being threatened or harmed, it’s like setting flame to gunpowder.”

“Your mother was mistaken. It is not men’s nature to commit violence against women, it’s a corruption of their nature.”

“In fact, it was ridiculous, how dashing he was, all brass and brawn. Only to you would I admit that when I heard his Irish brogue, I nearly began batting my eyelashes and simpering like the ingénue from some second-rate playhouse.” Helen laughed gently. “There’s something charming about a man with an accent, isn’t there? I know it’s considered a defect—even more so if the accent is Welsh—but to me there’s poetry in it.”

“I made it clear that any man who tries to harm you will have me beating hell’s torment on him.

Tis a habit, is all.” The glow of a streetlamp found sapphire gleams in the depths of his eyes. “Someday you’ll trust someone enough to let down your guard. And then there’ll be no holding back.”

“Violets make an excellent blood-purifying tonic,” Garrett said awkwardly, feeling the need to fill the silence. “And they’re good for treating cough or fever.” The elusive dimple appeared in his cheek. “They’re also becoming to green-eyed women.”

“Ah, darlin’ . . .” His perceptive gaze searched her face. “Do you intimidate men so badly, then?” “I do, I’m horrid,” Garrett confessed, and a mischievous laugh broke out. “I’m independent and opinionated, and I love telling people what to do. I have no feminine delicacy. My occupation either offends or frightens men, or sometimes both.” She shrugged and smiled. “So I’ve never been given so much as a single dandelion. But it’s been worth it to live as I choose.”

“I’ll show it to you. Have you ever seen a butterfly’s wing magnified a hundred times?” The cabbie had been following the conversation attentively. “Lad, are you daft a’thegither?” he asked from his perch. “Don’t stand there like stuffed beef—go inside with the lady!”

Turning, she ran her gaze over the shelves of supplies, and froze. The dozen glass test tubes in the wooden rack had been filled with violets. The blue petals were as vivid as jewels in the utilitarian environment. An intoxicating scent drifted from the row of tiny bouquets.

there a second choice?” Garrett had asked dully. “Because at the moment, the only thing I’d like to do with cheerful people is push them into the path of an oncoming carriage.”

Garrett smiled down into the girl’s upturned face. “There will always be people who say your dreams are impossible. But they can’t stop you, unless you agree with them.”

But she would do well without him, just as she had before. She was a strong, resilient woman, a force of nature. He only worried that no one would bring her flowers.

Ethan’s gaze fixed on hers as he spoke with effort. “The first moment I saw you, I knew you were my share of the world. I’ve always loved you. If I could choose my fate, I’d never be parted from you. Acushla . . . pulse of my heart, breath of my soul . . . there’s nothing on this earth more fair and fine than you. Your shadow on the ground is sunlight to me.”

“No, you’ve already managed to ruin a moving deathbed scene. I couldn’t wait to hear what came after ‘your shadow on the ground is sunlight to me,’ but then you started giving orders like a drill sergeant. You might as well operate on Ransom: we won’t get any more good lines out of him tonight.”

But her will was stronger than his weakness.

“In fact,” West continued, “now that my blood is running through your veins, we’re practically brothers.” Ethan shook his head, perplexed. “Transfusion,” West explained. “You received ten ounces of Ravenel ’forty-nine . . . a fairly decent vintage, it seems, since it brought you back to life when your heart stopped after surgery.” He grinned at Ethan’s expression. “Cheer up, you might develop a sense of humor now.”

West Ravenel, with his usual irreverence, was chatting casually with someone in a dead man’s room.

West lifted his brows, looking smug. “Am I going to begin every day of your visit being showered by death threats from the two of you?”

Ethan blinked in surprise. “You fought him?” “I did.” “Single-handedly?” West gave him a sardonic glance. “Yes, Ransom. He may be a trained assassin, but he made the mistake of waking a Ravenel from a sound sleep.”

“We’ll be armed with something far more powerful than bullets,” Garrett told him. West looked at Ethan with mock alarm. “You’re taking the spoon?”

Red hair isn’t a requirement, but I do have a fatal weakness for it.”

“She’s right,” he said. “I’ll have to act now and think later.” “Spoken like a true Ravenel.”

“My aim was at least three inches off,” Garrett said, regarding the iron in her hand with a perturbed frown. “Probably because it’s heavier than my cane.”

His snowy brows had lifted as he had asked with a touch of waggish anticipation, “Will he be stopping by the clinic to pay a call? I’d like to ask him a question or two about his intentions toward you.”

He pressed something smooth and metallic into the palm of her hand. She looked down and saw a whistle cast in silver, strung on a glinting, glimmering silver chain. Noticing there was something engraved on it, she looked more closely. Whenever you want me