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“I was quiet—I guess you’d call me a nerd. I didn’t have many friends, but I didn’t care. I spent most of my time with my nose in a book. So yes, I can relate to your son.”
“Thanks for that.” They were standing by the kitchen table, his big body looming over her. “I’d like to know more about you—a lot more. But I know better than to push. You’re a very private person, Jess, and I’m learning to respect that. But I hope it doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”
Friends?Panic fluttered like a trapped insect against her ribs. First friends. Then what? When would the questions start? What would happen if she began to trust him—to trust ajournalist? And how long could she hold out against his charm before he broke down the barriers that protected her and she told him everything?
It was time to make a fast escape.
She buttoned her wool cardigan against the chill and gathered up the stack of pizza boxes. “I’ll just drop these in the trash can on my way out,” she said.
“No, it’s dark outside. Give me those. I’ll take them and then walk you to your car.”
“As I keep telling you, this is Branding Iron, not Seattle. I’ll be fine.”
She took a step toward the door. Moving into her path to take the boxes, he bumped her shoulder. The boxes fell out of her arms and scattered across the kitchen floor.
Reflexively, she dropped to her knees. “Sorry, I’ll get them,” she muttered.
“No, here—” He crouched beside her. When he reached for the same box as she did, their hands collided. Brief as it was, the contact of his skin with hers sent a sensual jolt through her body.
Had he felt it, too? One look into the blue eyes that locked with hers answered that question.
Her breath stopped as his free hand brushed her cheek. Jess knew she should draw back, but she found herself craving his touch, wanting more.
“Jess—” His lips formed her name, but the sound was blocked by a shout from the office down the hall.
“Hey, Dad, I can’t get the printer to work. What’s wrong with it?”
“I’ll be right there, Trevor.” He gathered the pizza boxes and laid them on the counter, then reached down to give Jess a hand up. His palm was cool and smooth, sending subtle quivers up her arm as he pulled her to her feet. For a beat too long, his clasp lingered. Feeling a mild surge of panic, she jerked away.
“I need to go,” she said.
“Thanks for coming. I’ll take the boxes out. Leave them. That’s an order.”
Jess hurried down the sidewalk to her car. The night breeze was cold through her sweater. But her face felt warm, almost hot. What might have happened if Trevor hadn’t needed help?
She’d told herself that she was in control of her own emotions. But her sheer physical response to his touch had struck like a lightning bolt, leaving her helpless and confused.
As she drove home, dry leaves blowing against the windshield, she forced her thoughts away from what had just happened. Earlier, she’d been considering a vacation—something she needed more than ever. If she was to get away for the Christmas holidays, she would need to start lining up flight and hotel reservations. Tonight she would get on her computer and check for available destinations—Hawaii, maybe, or Costa Rica. The thought of lapping waves on tropical sands might even be enough to take her mind off Cooper.
She rounded the last corner and pulled her car up the driveway of the house with the giant dead cottonwood in the front yard. The tree’s skeletal limbs, like bone-white fingers against the dark sky, swayed lightly in the wind.
The tree had been long dead when she bought the house. She’d checked on the cost of cutting it down and hauling away the mountain of wood, but the lowest bid had been more than a thousand dollars—money she still couldn’t spare. So there it stood, looming like Godzilla over her small house.
As she climbed out of her car, she noticed the tan SUV with the sheriff’s logo on the door parked alongside the curb. She recognized it as the vehicle Buck drove when he was working. But he didn’t usually stop by to see Wynette when he was on duty. Was something wrong—some kind of emergency?
The front door was unlocked. Jess walked into the house to find Buck and Wynette together on the sofa, holding hands. Apart from the worried looks on their faces, everything appeared to be all right.
Seeing the couple together was always a pleasure—both of them blond and blue-eyed, so much alike that they could have been brother and sister. They would no doubt have beautiful children. And if the way they looked at each other was any indication, those children wouldn’t be long in coming.
But tonight something was off. Buck’s expression looked frayed, while Wynette appeared to be consoling him.
“Is everything all right?” Jess asked.
Buck answered with a ragged sigh. “I should probably say yes. But I’m not that good at walking away from my job after I’ve done what I can.
“Tonight I got a domestic call from the McCoy place, out past town. Ed was drinking, and Ruth was pretty badly beaten up—black eye, bloodied nose, and a dislocated shoulder. I called the paramedics for Ruth, cuffed Ed, and took him to jail. If it’s like every other time, he’ll sit there until Ruth comes in tomorrow, declines to press charges, and takes him home until the next time—if he doesn’t kill her or send her to the ER first.” Buck shook his head. “It just gets to me how folks who loved each other enough to get married could end up like that.”
“Doesn’t Ed have a job?” Jess asked. “How can he work without getting fired when these things happen?”
