by Dawn Temple
“Ouch. That stings.”
“Don’t be such a baby. Just grit your teeth and do it. Otherwise, you’ll have a huge goose egg by morning.” She gently jabbed his shoulder before turning around and grabbing his laundry bundle. “Sit there while I get the washer started, then I’ll dig up some aspirin.”
Kyle turned in his chair, watching the enticing sway of her hips as she strolled down the narrow kitchen and into the attached mudroom. Despite the lingering pain from the crash, he felt pretty good. With a contented exhale, he rested his head against the back of the chair.
Shayna’s obvious concern for his well-being did more for his aches and pains than a bottle of pain reliever ever could. No one had ever reacted that quickly to ease his suffering. It was the kind of luxury he hadn’t planned for in his life but one he could definitely become accustomed to.
Only problem was, he couldn’t imagine his future trophy wife even knowing where the kitchen was, much less risking her fifty-dollar manicure to make him an ice pack.
The edges of his contentment frayed. The closer he got to achieving the goals he’d set fifteen years ago, the more he questioned them. He’d based his life’s accomplishments on an angry teenager’s view of success. Wealth and power had been his primary motivators, but the messed-up kid he’d been had no idea what that kind of accumulation required.
But he was too close to the finish line to quit now. Dismissing his self-doubts, he concentrated on the homey sounds of Shayna bustling around the kitchen.
He’d never met anyone like her. She had made it emphatically clear she didn’t want him here—not in Land’s Cross and most certainly not in her home. Yet somehow, she’d managed to put that aside and treat him with kindness and respect.
The woman was almost too good to be true, and being an old-school cynic, Kyle found it difficult to take her at face value. No matter how tempting the offer.
The clunk of glass hitting the tabletop snapped his head upright. He dropped the ice pack and opened his eyes. Shayna stood mere inches from him, her vanilla scent tantalizing him, a pill bottle in her hand.
“Here, take a couple of these.”
Their fingers touched as he accepted the bottle. A physical spark zinged up his arm. He knew she felt it, too, by the way she rubbed her fingertips together, as if trying to hold on to the sensation.
Kyle put the ice pack on the table and sat up, the pill bottle rattling with the movement. She stood so close that it would take very little effort for him to pull her onto his lap where he could feast on her generous mouth.
The tip of her tongue snuck out and wet her lips. Kyle’s coveralls became skin tight. He started to reach for her just as her eyes widened. Nervous fingers twining through her hair, she backed away, not stopping until her backside hit the counter. With her gaze glued over his shoulder, she gestured behind her.
“Hungry?” Her raspy voice stretched the second syllable, drawing his body even tighter.
Hell, yes. Starving. And only one thing in that kitchen would satisfy him. Unfortunately, even if Shayna put herself on the menu, he’d be forced to abstain.
He’d come in here determined to charm his way under her defenses. A casual dinner, harmless small talk, whatever it took to get her to lower her guard. Yet less than ten minutes in and he’d let hormones distract him.
“Hope you like sandwiches.” Her forcefully upbeat tone made it clear she wanted to pretend the past few minutes hadn’t happened. He was more than willing to oblige.
He stood and, leaving as much distance between them as the cramped quarters allowed, approached the ingredients she’d laid out. Two kinds of bread, three varieties of lunch meat, precut slices of pepper jack cheese, a platter of fresh veggies, half a dozen jars of condiments and a giant bag of potato chips.
“It looks like a gourmet sandwich shop in here.”
“Sandwiches are the closest thing to gourmet we get around here. Cooking’s not my strong suit.”
Hello, opening! He tried not to smirk, but man, she’d just lobbed a big, fat conversational softball right over the heart of the plate. Playing it cool, he casually leaned one hip against the counter. “Then what is your strong suit?”
An uneasy look flickered across her face. She fidgeted, as if she wanted to put more distance between them, but she held her position. He liked that about her. She didn’t back down.
“Well, I’m good with people. Animals love me. And I’m a crack shot.”
That last comment was a bit unnerving, but Kyle refused to back off. “All very fine recommendations, but what’s the one thing you do better than anything else?”
“That’s an intriguing question.” She drummed her fingers against her chin, her eyes studying the kitchen’s ceiling. “Oh! I’ve got it.” She snapped her fingers. Her relaxed, friendly grin returned, stretching ear to ear. “I’m fantastic at making kids smile.”
“How is that a skill?”
“Children often pay the highest price for their parents’ mistakes. They can lose their trust in grown-ups. By winning back a little of that trust and making them smile, I can restore some normalcy to their chaotic lives. That’s why I studied social services, so I can help kids who were dealt a raw deal in the parental lottery.”
Ah, now this was something he could work with. “Not a very lucrative career choice.”
“I’m sure I can scrape by. Besides, money’s not as important to me as doing something worthwhile with my life.”
“All the more reason for you to have a long-range savings plan. A million dollars would make a cozy nest egg.”
Her quick wit showed in the simple, cocky way she arched her eyebrows. “Careful there, counselor. I’d hate for you to break the ground rules and end up sleeping outside.”
Knowing when to push and when to back off, he waved his hands in mock protest before gathering up the cheese and lunch meat. “I’m just making conversation.”
“More like working the conversation.”
He shrugged. “Force of habit.”
“I’d call it compulsive behavior.” She grabbed the platter of veggies and followed him to the table. “So, how about you? What’s your strong suit?”
Getting gals like you to cooperate with my clients’wishes.
Knowing that much honesty wouldn’t win him any brownie points, he returned to the counter and gathered up the remaining sandwich makings before giving a less specific answer. “Talking people into seeing things my way.”
“Guess that’s why you decided to become a lawyer, huh?”
“Actually, I didn’t really hone my communication skills until after college.”
“So then why did you pick law?”
“I wanted to make a lot of money.”
“Really? I kind of figured you grew up with money.”
“Hardly.” He snorted. Her brows crinkled, but he damned sure didn’t want her to continue on that track, so he quickly followed with, “Lower middle class. Money never went far enough.”
It was a true statement but not exactly an honest answer to her unasked question.
“So, if your goal was to be rich, why not become a doctor or an accountant or an investment banker or a rock star or any of a hundred other jobs that don’t have such a negative reputation? Why law?”
He had to give the lady points for intelligence. And perseverance. She’d seen right through his flimsy excuse, and he was sure she’d peck at him till she found the truth. She’d have made a great attorney.
Might as well reward her with a slice of the truth.
“As a kid, I was a bit of a runt and always seemed to get the short end of the stick, so I decided early on that I wanted to be powerful and influential enough to ensure I always came out on top.”
“And do you?”
“Most of the time.”
“Huh.” That single grunted syllable sounded very confused, and he expected more questions. Instead, she began building herself a massive sandwich.
He followed suit, all the w
hile conscious of her mind still silently working its way through something. He knew her curiosity wasn’t yet satisfied. What he didn’t know was whether she would pursue more answers.
Halfway through the meal, she put her sandwich down and turned cautious eyes on him.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
More personal than the ones she’d already asked? Hell, that could be dangerous. “You can ask, but I can’t promise to answer.”
She pursed her lips and nodded sagely, as if she understood that some subjects were too tender for words.
“With all your success, do you ever still feel like that little runt who was always getting picked on?” Though she’d asked about him, he knew the hurt little kid she worried about was herself.
Damn, he wanted to toss out a glib response about how he’d buried that pathetic kid decades ago and never thought twice about him anymore, but the raw emotion in her voice and the way her teeth gnawed on her lower lip made it impossible for him to be anything less than truthful.
“As much as I wish I could tell you that my adult successes have vanquished my inner runt, I can’t. The poor squirt still pops up every now and then.”
She released a heavy breath and picked up her sandwich again, but didn’t take a bite. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
Half an hour later, Shayna feared her nerves would burst through her skin as she stared at the wintry outlook. Zero percent chance of sunshine for the next two days, a fifty-fifty chance the temperature would creep above freezing sometime Friday afternoon.
The news ended and a car commercial blasted out of her little set. She lowered the volume and twisted on the couch, facing the comfy blue recliner where Kyle sat, the ice pack once again covering his wound.
Seeing him like that threw her mind and her body back to those scorching few minutes in the kitchen. The sight of him sprawled out at her table, looking as if he belonged, had scrambled her brain. For a second she’d forgotten who he was and why he was here. All she’d been able to think about was curling up against that broad, strong chest and kissing the daylights out of him.
Clearing her throat, she nodded toward the whispering television. “It doesn’t look good.”
“It didn’t sound good.” He sat up and laid the ice pack on the coffee table, next to the pieces of her soon-to-be less revealing Ms. Noel costume. “Exactly how long will we be stuck up here, away from civilization?”
“Assuming it doesn’t rain again, just until Saturday.” She plucked up her costume and her sewing kit and settled back into the couch cushions. She needed to get the sleeves and hem tacked up so she could attach the faux fur trim tomorrow.
“Saturday? But the guy said the temp would rise above forty Friday afternoon. Surely the ice’ll melt off the road by then.”
“Yeah, but by then, the icy road won’t be the main problem. We won’t be able to get back to town till the bridge over Shiner’s Gulch thaws, and that’s going to take above-freezing temps and sunshine.”
“You’re telling me a little bad weather and no one can get up or down this blasted mountain. What about emergencies?”
“Usually, if the bridge is impassable, we can get to town the back way, but…well, there was an accident about two miles up the road a few weeks back. Highway department hasn’t gotten it repaired yet.”
Her cheeks warmed as Kyle flashed her a steely look that she bet had caused many a dishonest witness to crumble. “What kind of accident?”
“An explosion. Sort of.”
“Sort of? An explosion is usually one of those things that very definitely is or isn’t. Which was it?”
Drat! She dropped the costume to her lap. Did the man have to cross-examine everything?
“It was a definite accidental explosion.” When she noticed her fingers fidgeting in her hair, she paused, drew a deep breath and forced her hands back into her lap. She would not squirm like a sinner on Sunday.
“Mr. McGuffy goofed his recipe and his still blew up. It landed in the middle of the road. The stuff was so high proof that it burned hot enough to melt the asphalt. Now there’s a giant sinkhole in the middle of the road that you can’t drive around.”
“Moonshine?” he asked incredulously.
“Yep. It’s an old tradition in these parts, a teenaged right of passage, sneaking up the mountain to Mr. McGuffy’s. It’s usually harmless fun, but I’m afraid the tradition is officially over now.”
“I should think so. Do the parents know what’s going on?”
She snickered, totally entertained by his reactions. “Oh, yeah. Most of the people who grew up around here have more than their fair share of McGuffy stories.”
“What about you? I’d imagine living this close you were a frequent customer.”
She shook her head, her stomach turning queasy at the memory. “I only did it once. The year I turned twelve, I tagged along with some older friends. Two couples. I wasn’t really there for the shine, but about halfway through our jar, they become more interested in kissing, so I finished the stuff off by myself. I was sick as a dog for three straight days.”
“At that age, you’re lucky you didn’t get alcohol poisoning.”
“Yeah, that’s what Daddy told me. The next day, he made me work in the yard—in the hot sun—all day. I spent hours puking and pulling weeds.”
Lines crinkled around his eyes, and his dimple danced as he laughed. “Bet you learned your lesson.”
“Darn tooting I did. To this day, I’m not a big drinker. And I never go along with something just because everyone else does.”
“Sometimes the hardest learned lessons are the best,” he remarked.
She shimmied deeper into the couch cushions, a wicked grin splitting her face, surprised to realize she was enjoying Kyle’s company. “That sounds like the voice of experience. Let’s hear it.”
Well, hell. This woman sure knew how to turn a simple conversation into a verbal mine field.
Getting Shayna to drop her guard was one thing, but revisiting his own miserable childhood was another. Still, they were bonding, and even though he hated swapping personal tidbits, if it helped get the job done, Kyle would force himself to bite the bullet.
He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid most of my life experiences aren’t fit for sharing in mixed company.”
“Sooo you were a bad boy, huh?”
“You could say that.” His father sure as hell must have thought so, considering how often the old man smacked him around.
“Come on, you’ve got to share. It’s only fair. What’s the worst thing you did as a kid?”
“Are you saying getting smashed on moonshine was the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
“Not the worst,” she admitted vaguely, her lids lowering to hide her expressive amber eyes. “But it definitely taught me several lessons I’ve never forgotten. Surely you pulled some kind of stunt as a kid that still affects you today?”
Had he ever. His list of past mistakes was long and personal and something he never talked about. Ever.
“I almost got arrested for armed robbery when I was fifteen.” The confession stunned him nearly as much as it did her.
“Almost?” Eyes wide open now, she leaned intently toward him and hugged her arms around herself. “Sounds like you caught a break.”
“Yeah, not that I was very grateful at the time.” But in the end, that near miss had started him thinking about getting out, about finding a way to turn his life around before he ended up just like his old man.
Shayna didn’t respond, but something about the patient, nonjudgmental way she watched him made him want to share the details, to explain, as she had, the way he’d turned a negative experience into a positive life lesson.
“Back then, my family life really sucked, so I’d started hanging out with a neighborhood gang after school rather than going back to whatever crisis had erupted at home.”
His foster parents at the time had an affinity for off-track betting. When their h
orse failed to show, they liked to take their frustration out on the first kid through the door.
“One day, the leader of our sorry gang decided we should hang out at the local Cash ’N’ Go. Seemed I was the only one who didn’t know they planned to rob the place. At gunpoint.”
“Oh, no.” Her worried cry mingled with the popping fire reminded him they were completely alone. The solitude made it easier to speak the truth.
“Yeah. When I realized what was up, I pretended to trip over a potato chip display. The distraction caught the clerk’s attention and he ran us off. The guys beat the crap out of me every day for a week, but at least I didn’t end up with a criminal record.”
Warily, Kyle lifted his eyes to hers. Where he’d feared revulsion or censure, he found understanding and admiration. It was a humbling combination.
“You did the right thing.”
“I know that now, but back then, when I was nursing cracked ribs, I was sure it was the stupidest move I’d ever made.”
“You were only fifteen. I’d be willing to bet you’ve done a ton of more stupid things since then.”
Amazingly, her teasing soothed his lingering discomfort over exposing the details of his past. How the devil could one woman be so easy to talk to one minute and so damned difficult the next?
“You would definitely win that bet.”
“See, that wasn’t so bad now, was it?” She tapped his knee before relaxing back against the cushion. “A little more practice and I’m sure you’ll conquer your fear of social chitchat.” With a teasing wink, she lightened the mood, but the damage was done. He’d set out to get her to lower her guard, and instead, she’d completely turned the tables on him.
“I think swapping childhood stupidities goes beyond the scope of mere social chitchat.”
“Guess that means we’ve exceeded expectations, huh? And for our reward—a movie. Two straight hours, no talking necessary.”
“What movie?”
“Home Alone.” She smirked, looking as young and innocent as the child star from the movie, who, if memory served, turned out to be a hell-raiser in real life.
