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Authors: Shirley Jump Cara Colter
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her a little hint of his?
It didn’t mean she had to bring him home to meether brothers. It didn’t mean they were going to get married and have babies at Annie’s Retreat, sweetly intoxicating as those thoughts were.
It just meant she could enjoy the moment, and bring him along for the ride. She didn’t have to look at the future, and more important she didn’t have to look at the past, and measure everything against the scale of potential loss.
And with that in mind, feeling strangely light, Samantha went down the street from where he was buying hot dogs at Ernie’s and bought two kites—the satin fabric kind with the wonderful colors and long, long tails—to fly on the beach after they’d eaten lunch.
As she climbed back into the car, she shucked off the jacket, even though the camisole was probably a little too revealing to wear by itself.
Live dangerously , she ordered herself.
And she was so glad she had obeyed when she saw the heat flash through Ethan’s eyes when he got back in the car.
“Nice kites,” he said, his voice hoarse.
She should have slugged him. That would have made her brothers proud. But for some reason, tired of living her brothers’ vision for her instead of her own, she just laughed.
She took the hot dogs and drinks from his hands, but when she noticed he had gotten water for the dog the unwanted stab of tenderness she felt for himmade her wonder if it was going to be possible to keep this simple.
But she told herself it was too late to change her mind, and that there was no such thing as a Hall who was a chicken, and she directed him to a beach that was dog friendly and just far enough from St. John’s Cove that she hoped they weren’t going to see any locals who would be reporting her impulsive outing to Mitch.
CHAPTER FIVE
T HIS is what you got when you made the decision to live dangerously, Sam thought. This is what you got when you decided to show six feet of pure, muscled man how to play.
Ethan had shrugged off his shirt fifteen minutes ago, and now he was running on the hardened pack of the surf, the dog at his heels, unraveling the spool of kite string behind him. His laughter rang out, clear and true, like church bells.
“Run faster,” she called to him, holding the kite at the other end of the string, waiting for exactly the right moment to toss it into the waiting breeze.
“I’m running as fast as I can,” he protested.
“My granny Hall can run faster than that!”
He rewarded her with a burst of speed, and she admired the clean, powerful lines of his legs for a moment—the purely masculine energy of him—before she took mercy on him and tossed the kite in the air.
“Launch attempt forty-two,” she called.
“Ninety-two,” he shot back, getting the hang of this playing stuff. The truth was neither of them were really counting the number of times they had tried to get the thing in the sky. This time, the kite caught the wind and wiggled upward, a bright yellow sun with thirty feet of rainbow silk unraveling behind it.
But she couldn’t watch the kite for long, gorgeous as it was against a sky that had proved flawless once the fog had lifted. The sea, restless during their visit with the Finkles, had become quiet. Instead she watched the play of his muscles under sun-gold skin, admiring the broadness of shoulders and the tautness of belly, the white flash of his teeth as he tilted his head back to watch the kite.
The smile disappeared as the kite tilted crazily one way, then the other, and then nosedived straight down toward the ocean!
“No!” she cried. “Don’t let it get wet.”
He managed, at the last moment, to maneuver it away from the water, so it planted itself deeply into the sand.
A lesser man might have groaned in frustration, but he laughed, and began rolling up the string, ready to try again. “Get ready for launch attempt one hundred and six,” he instructed her.
“My brothers would like that,” she said, picking the
It didn’t mean she had to bring him home to meether brothers. It didn’t mean they were going to get married and have babies at Annie’s Retreat, sweetly intoxicating as those thoughts were.
It just meant she could enjoy the moment, and bring him along for the ride. She didn’t have to look at the future, and more important she didn’t have to look at the past, and measure everything against the scale of potential loss.
And with that in mind, feeling strangely light, Samantha went down the street from where he was buying hot dogs at Ernie’s and bought two kites—the satin fabric kind with the wonderful colors and long, long tails—to fly on the beach after they’d eaten lunch.
As she climbed back into the car, she shucked off the jacket, even though the camisole was probably a little too revealing to wear by itself.
Live dangerously , she ordered herself.
And she was so glad she had obeyed when she saw the heat flash through Ethan’s eyes when he got back in the car.
“Nice kites,” he said, his voice hoarse.
She should have slugged him. That would have made her brothers proud. But for some reason, tired of living her brothers’ vision for her instead of her own, she just laughed.
She took the hot dogs and drinks from his hands, but when she noticed he had gotten water for the dog the unwanted stab of tenderness she felt for himmade her wonder if it was going to be possible to keep this simple.
But she told herself it was too late to change her mind, and that there was no such thing as a Hall who was a chicken, and she directed him to a beach that was dog friendly and just far enough from St. John’s Cove that she hoped they weren’t going to see any locals who would be reporting her impulsive outing to Mitch.
CHAPTER FIVE
T HIS is what you got when you made the decision to live dangerously, Sam thought. This is what you got when you decided to show six feet of pure, muscled man how to play.
Ethan had shrugged off his shirt fifteen minutes ago, and now he was running on the hardened pack of the surf, the dog at his heels, unraveling the spool of kite string behind him. His laughter rang out, clear and true, like church bells.
“Run faster,” she called to him, holding the kite at the other end of the string, waiting for exactly the right moment to toss it into the waiting breeze.
“I’m running as fast as I can,” he protested.
“My granny Hall can run faster than that!”
He rewarded her with a burst of speed, and she admired the clean, powerful lines of his legs for a moment—the purely masculine energy of him—before she took mercy on him and tossed the kite in the air.
“Launch attempt forty-two,” she called.
“Ninety-two,” he shot back, getting the hang of this playing stuff. The truth was neither of them were really counting the number of times they had tried to get the thing in the sky. This time, the kite caught the wind and wiggled upward, a bright yellow sun with thirty feet of rainbow silk unraveling behind it.
But she couldn’t watch the kite for long, gorgeous as it was against a sky that had proved flawless once the fog had lifted. The sea, restless during their visit with the Finkles, had become quiet. Instead she watched the play of his muscles under sun-gold skin, admiring the broadness of shoulders and the tautness of belly, the white flash of his teeth as he tilted his head back to watch the kite.
The smile disappeared as the kite tilted crazily one way, then the other, and then nosedived straight down toward the ocean!
“No!” she cried. “Don’t let it get wet.”
He managed, at the last moment, to maneuver it away from the water, so it planted itself deeply into the sand.
A lesser man might have groaned in frustration, but he laughed, and began rolling up the string, ready to try again. “Get ready for launch attempt one hundred and six,” he instructed her.
“My brothers would like that,” she said, picking the
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