Read Online The Sweetest Gift (The McKaslin Clan: Series 1 Book 2) by Jillian Hart - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jillian Hart
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Contemporary, Spirituality, Pilot, Religious, Christian, Inspirational, Emotional, nurse, Faith, flying, neighbor, Past Issues, Love Inspired, plane, Sweetest Gift, Obnoxious, Medical Emergency Flight, Wounded Heart, Shut Down, Withdrew
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tried to sparkle, but they were shadowed. Troubled. “You’re not nearly as nice as you look, Kirby McKaslin. Maybe I have a few irresistible urges of my own.”
“I know how to swim.” She gripped the rail, knowing full well that he’d never toss her over. Her chin shot up, so he knew she wasn’t afraid of him. “I used to be a certified lifeguard. That’s how I put myself through college.”
“As a lifeguard? Did you teach little kids to swim?”
“Yes, and I loved it. I was teaching those children a valuable skill, one that could save their lives one day.”
“I was a lifeguard, too.” That amused him, that he and Florence Nightingale had that in common. They were about as different as he figured they could be. “I lifeguarded afternoons and weekends when I was a teenager. It kept me out of trouble and put my energy into something constructive. I worked the beaches just over there.”
He gestured to the span of public beach west of the city, which was rapidly gliding past them as the tongues and islands of land surrendered to the powerful Puget Sound.
“It makes you sad to remember that.” Gentle those words. Her hand covered his with a warm, assuring touch.
He could feel the comfort flow from her to him, from her tender heart to his well-defended one. It startled him. Troubled him.
He was a tough guy. He didn’t need comfort. He didn’t need to turn to a woman who would only let him down in the end.
Then why couldn’t he seem to make his hand move away from hers? He was a fully functioning male. He had control of his limbs and digits. He could command his fingers. So why was her hand still on his, satin soft and delicately boned and consoling?
He watched the distant shores drift past. Was he sad? “Yep. My dad died from pneumonia when I was five. It was rough. We had some very hard times. My mom was on her own, and I was a latchkey kid. I’d come home to our apartment after school, and I didn’t like the empty feeling when I got there. So I went out and hung around with a not so good crowd.”
She might as well know the truth about him. Know that he’d never been a Boy Scout. He wasn’t a good guy who flew volunteer flights out of the goodness of his pristine, perfect Christian heart. In too many ways he was still serving his country, doing what he could to make a difference.
That didn’t make him altruistic.
No, just the opposite. He was deeply flawed, and when Kirby figured that out, she’d either think she could try to heal him and save him or she’d keep her distance from him.
It was fine. He could handle it. He was prepared. He’d never let her close enough to hurt him.
“You probably have a charmed life, though, so you don’t know what it’s like to be surrounded by sad memories. That’s why I don’t live here.”
She pulled her hand away and swiped windblown hair out of her eyes. Maybe he was imagining it, but she looked sad, too. Her mouth thinned into a tight, hard line. “Maybe I do know about that. Maybe my life hasn’t been charmed.”
“I hear you come from a good family with money and one of the best ranches in the county. Ruth waxes on about what fine people the McKaslins are. You were probably cheerleader and homecoming queen.”
“No, but my four sisters were.”
“Not you?” He said the words kindly, as if he knew what it was like to be lost.
“I’ve known sadness.” She stared hard into the water, as if that would make her confession come more easily. “My oldest sister, Allison, died in a plane accident several years ago. It was a private plane headed for a Christian retreat. The Cessna had mechanical trouble and went down.”
I was on that plane, too, she meant to say. But the words didn’t come.
“I’m truly sorry.” He took her hand and held hard, tight, protective.
That single day had been the worst of her life. She had the scars to prove it. Physical and emotional. “Nothing has been the same since. I’m not the same.”
She
“I know how to swim.” She gripped the rail, knowing full well that he’d never toss her over. Her chin shot up, so he knew she wasn’t afraid of him. “I used to be a certified lifeguard. That’s how I put myself through college.”
“As a lifeguard? Did you teach little kids to swim?”
“Yes, and I loved it. I was teaching those children a valuable skill, one that could save their lives one day.”
“I was a lifeguard, too.” That amused him, that he and Florence Nightingale had that in common. They were about as different as he figured they could be. “I lifeguarded afternoons and weekends when I was a teenager. It kept me out of trouble and put my energy into something constructive. I worked the beaches just over there.”
He gestured to the span of public beach west of the city, which was rapidly gliding past them as the tongues and islands of land surrendered to the powerful Puget Sound.
“It makes you sad to remember that.” Gentle those words. Her hand covered his with a warm, assuring touch.
He could feel the comfort flow from her to him, from her tender heart to his well-defended one. It startled him. Troubled him.
He was a tough guy. He didn’t need comfort. He didn’t need to turn to a woman who would only let him down in the end.
Then why couldn’t he seem to make his hand move away from hers? He was a fully functioning male. He had control of his limbs and digits. He could command his fingers. So why was her hand still on his, satin soft and delicately boned and consoling?
He watched the distant shores drift past. Was he sad? “Yep. My dad died from pneumonia when I was five. It was rough. We had some very hard times. My mom was on her own, and I was a latchkey kid. I’d come home to our apartment after school, and I didn’t like the empty feeling when I got there. So I went out and hung around with a not so good crowd.”
She might as well know the truth about him. Know that he’d never been a Boy Scout. He wasn’t a good guy who flew volunteer flights out of the goodness of his pristine, perfect Christian heart. In too many ways he was still serving his country, doing what he could to make a difference.
That didn’t make him altruistic.
No, just the opposite. He was deeply flawed, and when Kirby figured that out, she’d either think she could try to heal him and save him or she’d keep her distance from him.
It was fine. He could handle it. He was prepared. He’d never let her close enough to hurt him.
“You probably have a charmed life, though, so you don’t know what it’s like to be surrounded by sad memories. That’s why I don’t live here.”
She pulled her hand away and swiped windblown hair out of her eyes. Maybe he was imagining it, but she looked sad, too. Her mouth thinned into a tight, hard line. “Maybe I do know about that. Maybe my life hasn’t been charmed.”
“I hear you come from a good family with money and one of the best ranches in the county. Ruth waxes on about what fine people the McKaslins are. You were probably cheerleader and homecoming queen.”
“No, but my four sisters were.”
“Not you?” He said the words kindly, as if he knew what it was like to be lost.
“I’ve known sadness.” She stared hard into the water, as if that would make her confession come more easily. “My oldest sister, Allison, died in a plane accident several years ago. It was a private plane headed for a Christian retreat. The Cessna had mechanical trouble and went down.”
I was on that plane, too, she meant to say. But the words didn’t come.
“I’m truly sorry.” He took her hand and held hard, tight, protective.
That single day had been the worst of her life. She had the scars to prove it. Physical and emotional. “Nothing has been the same since. I’m not the same.”
She
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