inside. The man was getting to her.
“Not true. I’ve known you since you were five years old. For little Kylie Summerfield, anything short of an A-plus was a failure. Something tells me you haven’t changed that much.”
“Well, I wouldn’t give myself an A-plus for today. I burned a batch of cookies, couldn’t find a Christmas tree, wrecked your precious bike, and came close to having meltdowns with both my children.”
He shook his head. “I’m surprised you’re not blaming yourself for the storm and the power outage. Take it easy on yourself, Kylie. You can’t hit a home run every time.”
“But don’t you see? I can’t give up. I have to keep trying. And now it’s almost . . . Christmas.” Her voice broke. She was trembling, on the verge of tears.
“Come here, lady.” His arm, which had rested along the back of the couch, reached down to circle her shoulder and pull her toward him. “You need a buddy hug. Don’t worry, I’m not out to take advantage of you. Just relax. Let it go.”
If she resisted, it was only for an instant. The solid warmth of his arm around her shoulders felt like something she needed. His subtle scent, a blend of snow and motor oil and fresh hay, stirred memories of the old days, growing up happy and secure in Branding Iron. She remembered the Christmas holidays, the stockings by the fireplace, the glittering tree, and the excitement of opening her gifts.
His hand moved to the back of her neck. Strong fingers massaged the aching muscles. A little purring sound rose in her throat. “That feels wonderful. Where did you learn to do that?”
“I learned massage to help my father after his stroke,” he said. “You’re all knotted up. Just close your eyes and breathe.”
Kylie exhaled, feeling the tension drain out of her shoulders. “I’m really, really sorry I wrecked your bike,” she said.
The sound of blowing snow filled the brief silence. “Accidents happen. If it can be fixed, I’ll fix it. If not . . .” His voice trailed off. He paused as if weighing what he was about to say next. “When we were in high school, I thought about asking you out. I wanted to, but I knew I wasn’t the kind of boy you’d want to be seen with. I couldn’t handle being turned down by Little Miss Perfect.”
Jolted by his revelation, Kylie pressed her lips together to keep from confessing her own secret crush. If she were to tell Shane the truth, he might take it as an invitation—and she wasn’t ready for that. She twisted the simple gold band on her finger—the wedding ring she’d worn for the past fourteen years. His eyes took in the gesture. His hand returned to the back of the couch.
“I take it you haven’t started dating again,” he said.
Kylie shook her head. “I’ve got better things to do than beat the bushes for single men. And even if I did meet someone, how could I do that to my children? They’re already dealing with so much. A new man, or men, in their lives—it wouldn’t be right.”
“Hearing that doesn’t surprise me. And knowing you wouldn’t have settled for less, I imagine your husband was a fine man.”
“He was.” Kylie’s throat tightened, as it did whenever she spoke about Brad. “But we had to share him with the army. He spent more time away than he did with his family. While he was gone, I had to manage on my own—not so different from now, except that now we know he’s not coming back. He’s buried in Arlington National Cemetery—that was what he always wanted.” She gazed down at her hands in the firelight, wondering if she’d revealed too much. “But that’s enough about me. Tell me what you’ve been doing all these years.”
He stretched his long legs, resting his stocking-clad feet on the raised brick hearth. One wool sock had a dime-sized hole in the toe. “Not much to tell. My plan after graduation was to head for the Gulf Coast and work for a while, maybe on an oil rig or a shrimp trawler, till I could save
“Not true. I’ve known you since you were five years old. For little Kylie Summerfield, anything short of an A-plus was a failure. Something tells me you haven’t changed that much.”
“Well, I wouldn’t give myself an A-plus for today. I burned a batch of cookies, couldn’t find a Christmas tree, wrecked your precious bike, and came close to having meltdowns with both my children.”
He shook his head. “I’m surprised you’re not blaming yourself for the storm and the power outage. Take it easy on yourself, Kylie. You can’t hit a home run every time.”
“But don’t you see? I can’t give up. I have to keep trying. And now it’s almost . . . Christmas.” Her voice broke. She was trembling, on the verge of tears.
“Come here, lady.” His arm, which had rested along the back of the couch, reached down to circle her shoulder and pull her toward him. “You need a buddy hug. Don’t worry, I’m not out to take advantage of you. Just relax. Let it go.”
If she resisted, it was only for an instant. The solid warmth of his arm around her shoulders felt like something she needed. His subtle scent, a blend of snow and motor oil and fresh hay, stirred memories of the old days, growing up happy and secure in Branding Iron. She remembered the Christmas holidays, the stockings by the fireplace, the glittering tree, and the excitement of opening her gifts.
His hand moved to the back of her neck. Strong fingers massaged the aching muscles. A little purring sound rose in her throat. “That feels wonderful. Where did you learn to do that?”
“I learned massage to help my father after his stroke,” he said. “You’re all knotted up. Just close your eyes and breathe.”
Kylie exhaled, feeling the tension drain out of her shoulders. “I’m really, really sorry I wrecked your bike,” she said.
The sound of blowing snow filled the brief silence. “Accidents happen. If it can be fixed, I’ll fix it. If not . . .” His voice trailed off. He paused as if weighing what he was about to say next. “When we were in high school, I thought about asking you out. I wanted to, but I knew I wasn’t the kind of boy you’d want to be seen with. I couldn’t handle being turned down by Little Miss Perfect.”
Jolted by his revelation, Kylie pressed her lips together to keep from confessing her own secret crush. If she were to tell Shane the truth, he might take it as an invitation—and she wasn’t ready for that. She twisted the simple gold band on her finger—the wedding ring she’d worn for the past fourteen years. His eyes took in the gesture. His hand returned to the back of the couch.
“I take it you haven’t started dating again,” he said.
Kylie shook her head. “I’ve got better things to do than beat the bushes for single men. And even if I did meet someone, how could I do that to my children? They’re already dealing with so much. A new man, or men, in their lives—it wouldn’t be right.”
“Hearing that doesn’t surprise me. And knowing you wouldn’t have settled for less, I imagine your husband was a fine man.”
“He was.” Kylie’s throat tightened, as it did whenever she spoke about Brad. “But we had to share him with the army. He spent more time away than he did with his family. While he was gone, I had to manage on my own—not so different from now, except that now we know he’s not coming back. He’s buried in Arlington National Cemetery—that was what he always wanted.” She gazed down at her hands in the firelight, wondering if she’d revealed too much. “But that’s enough about me. Tell me what you’ve been doing all these years.”
He stretched his long legs, resting his stocking-clad feet on the raised brick hearth. One wool sock had a dime-sized hole in the toe. “Not much to tell. My plan after graduation was to head for the Gulf Coast and work for a while, maybe on an oil rig or a shrimp trawler, till I could save
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