Page 66 of Love’s Silver Bullet

Slashing blunt fingers through coal black hair, he exhaled again before homing in on her with a tentative look. “I wanted to tell you that I”—his Adam’s apple dipped several times while his voice came out in a husky rasp—“have feelings for you, Sheridan.”

She gasped, the sound all but echoing in the silent barn. Tears pooled in her eyes as she took a step forward.

“No!” He held out a hand, palm up. “No closer please, because this is not easy to say.”

She gulped, heart hammering so hard, she feared he could see it through her robe.

Chest rising with a deep inhale, he started to pace, his words as shaky as the hand he was tunneling through his hair. “I have”—he swallowed hard—“feelings for you, Sheridan, but I need time to sort them out.”

“What kind of feelings?” she said softly, almost surprised how much stronger her voice sounded than his.

He paused, gaze flicking briefly to hers before he looked away, pacing once again. “I, uh … I’m attracted to you, of which you’re already well aware,” he said quietly, his pace slowing as if the admission had calmed him somehow. “And I want time to sort those feelings out while you’re away at school.”

“Why?” It was barely a whisper, her pulse pounding so hard, she barely heard it all.

He halted to knead the bridge of his nose, head bowed. “Because I’m as confused as I am attracted, Sheridan, and I need to think it through, long and hard”—he peered up beneath thick dark lashes—“and pray about what I should do.”

“You’ll pray about it?” Hope threaded her tone.

He looked up, a pinch of offense riddling his brow. “Of course. That’s a first resort for me, Sheridan, not a last.”

She gave a shaky nod. “Good to know, because I’ve been doing that for years now.”

She could have sworn he winced before he turned away, head bent.

“Jake?”

“Yeah?” He didn’t turn around, so she walked to him.

“I’m in love with you,” she said softly, and her heart hitched when his shoulders slumped all the more.

“That’s just it, Sheridan, I don’t think you are.” He turned to face her head-on, his big-brother posture tightly in place. “I think you’re confusing love with a big-brother affection.”

Annoyance prickled through her. “I don’t think so, Jake”—her chin rose in defiance—“because never once do I remember either Blaze or Dash kissing me the way you did that day.”

Blood gorged his face, and never had she seen him flush so hard, nor those beautiful eyes harden to pale-blue agate. His chin rose to counter hers, hard as sculpted stone “Nor I, with any female in town, be it a saloon girl or other.”

Tears suddenly swelled, trembling on her lashes like her legs trembled on the floor. His words made her feel cheap and tawdry, and with a ragged heave, she turned to go.

“Wait!” He grabbed her from behind before she could take another step, whirling her around to swallow her up in a fierce hug. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against her hair, rubbing her back while she sobbed in his arms. “Shhh … shhh, Half-Pint, don’t cry, please. I’m sorry.” He bent his head against hers.

Breathing in his scent, she slipped her arms around his muscled back, sniffing while she lay her head on his chest. “I love you, Jake, and deep down, I think you love me too.”

A low groan rattled in his chest, vibrating in her ear. “I do love you, Half-Pint,” he whispered with an agony she’d sensed in him many times before, “but I’m not sure it’s in the way that you want.”

She pulled away to peer up while she swiped the tears from her eyes. “I want you to love me as a woman, Jake, touch me and kiss me like you did that day, and then hopefully, someday, make me your wife.”

His hold dropped as he took a step back. “That’s just it, Sher—I’m confused. All these years you’ve been like a little sister to me, so it’s just”—he plowed fingers through his thick black hair, disrupting it enough that several dark strands dangled over his forehead—“hard, you know? And now there’s these … these … feelings that I need time to sort out—”

“How much time?” she said in a rush, desperate for some kind of commitment to hang her hopes on.

He plunged his hands back into his pockets and shrugged. “I don’t know. “You’re so young, Sheridan, and I’m almost eight years older, for pity’s sake.”

“I don’t care,” she said in a near hiss, taking a step forward.

“No, but I do. Your uncle would fire me on the spot if he knew we were talking like this.”

“No, he wouldn’t!” She clutched his arms. “He would be fine with it, Jake, because he loves you, and you’re already part of the family.”