thought—"
"I know. I'm sorry I'm late. My car wouldn't start."
"Oh." He ducked his head then peered up at her though his tousled bangs. "I could take a look at the engine if you want."
Claire chuckled. "You sound like Mrs. Proctor."
"I do?"
She waved her hand. "Never mind. And thanks, but I got it started finally. But that's why I'm late."
"Oh, sure." He rubbed his hands up on the legs of his faded jeans and sat back down in the desk chair.
She started to turn away then hesitated. "Kevin, what did you think when I was late?"
It was his turn to brush her off. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."
She studied him with tension gathering in her chest. "You thought I'd quit, that I'd given up after just one day."
Kevin said nothing, didn't look up. His silence said everything he didn't. His lack of faith in her twisted inside her, tightening the pressure in her lungs.
"You know, this isn't some game to me. I want to make this work. I have to make this work." To her horror, her voice cracked.
Kevin raised his gaze then, and his soulful, brown eyes reached inside her with tender warmth.
She swallowed hard and lifted her chin. "I'm not a quitter, Kevin."
"I apologize. I should have never doubted you." The deep, even timbre of his voice vibrated through her. His steady gaze never faltered.
He's got gold in him.
With a shake of her head, Claire forced from her mind the sound of Mrs. Proctor's words and chased from her bones the shivery sensation stirred by Kevin's probing gaze.
Or so she thought. But the image of Kevin's dark eyes lingered in her mind all morning. Through hours of chatter with Lydia, who treated Claire like her new best friend, and a constant stream of customers wanting ratchets and butterfly clamps, Kevin drifted through her mind time and again. And each time her manager crossed her thoughts, her body reacted. The unsettled feeling that spun through her reminded her of the times when, as a child, she'd twirled around and around in pursuit of the dizzy, lightheaded rush that followed.
She was ringing up a farmer's order of fertilizer when Lydia called to her from the manager's office.
"Can you run out back and fetch Kevin? Tell him Mr. Lowery's on the phone for him. Says it's important."
Claire handed the farmer his receipt. "Have a nice day."
"Claire?"
"I'm going. Where is he?"
"Helping Ray unload the truck."
"Sure thing," she called back to Lydia then smiled to herself. Her father would be appalled at the way Lydia hollered her request and more put out with the fact his daughter had shouted back. Ladies didn't yell.
Claire pushed through the heavy back door to the loading dock and shielded her eyes from the glare of the bright midday sun. "Kevin?"
She walked toward the open end of the truck where she heard voices and the soft twang of a country radio station.
"Kevin?"
"Yeah?" He emerged from the shadows of the cargo hold of the truck, lugging a large box. Claire's feet faltered, and her breath lodged in her throat.
He wore no shirt, and a sheen of perspiration glistened on his chest and face. Though he couldn't be called muscle-bound, his shoulders rippled with sinew and strength. He had wide shoulders, capable of bearing a heavy load.
Kevin set the box on top of a stack of others waiting on a dolly, then pulled a rag from his back pocket to wipe his brow. "You need me?"
She tried to speak, but her voice tripped over the vision of his hard chest, sprinkled with dark hair and droplets of sweat. He raked his damp hair back and cocked his head. The sun cast his stubbled cheeks in harsh lines and rugged angles, and her mouth went dry.
"Claire? Did you call me?" With an athletic leap, he swung down from the back of the truck and moved toward her, still mopping sweat from his face and arms.
Once again Mrs. Proctor's rant from that morning flickered through her memory. Kevin deserves a woman who can see past what he doesn't have and see what he's got.
Well, she was looking at what Kevin got ,
"I know. I'm sorry I'm late. My car wouldn't start."
"Oh." He ducked his head then peered up at her though his tousled bangs. "I could take a look at the engine if you want."
Claire chuckled. "You sound like Mrs. Proctor."
"I do?"
She waved her hand. "Never mind. And thanks, but I got it started finally. But that's why I'm late."
"Oh, sure." He rubbed his hands up on the legs of his faded jeans and sat back down in the desk chair.
She started to turn away then hesitated. "Kevin, what did you think when I was late?"
It was his turn to brush her off. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."
She studied him with tension gathering in her chest. "You thought I'd quit, that I'd given up after just one day."
Kevin said nothing, didn't look up. His silence said everything he didn't. His lack of faith in her twisted inside her, tightening the pressure in her lungs.
"You know, this isn't some game to me. I want to make this work. I have to make this work." To her horror, her voice cracked.
Kevin raised his gaze then, and his soulful, brown eyes reached inside her with tender warmth.
She swallowed hard and lifted her chin. "I'm not a quitter, Kevin."
"I apologize. I should have never doubted you." The deep, even timbre of his voice vibrated through her. His steady gaze never faltered.
He's got gold in him.
With a shake of her head, Claire forced from her mind the sound of Mrs. Proctor's words and chased from her bones the shivery sensation stirred by Kevin's probing gaze.
Or so she thought. But the image of Kevin's dark eyes lingered in her mind all morning. Through hours of chatter with Lydia, who treated Claire like her new best friend, and a constant stream of customers wanting ratchets and butterfly clamps, Kevin drifted through her mind time and again. And each time her manager crossed her thoughts, her body reacted. The unsettled feeling that spun through her reminded her of the times when, as a child, she'd twirled around and around in pursuit of the dizzy, lightheaded rush that followed.
She was ringing up a farmer's order of fertilizer when Lydia called to her from the manager's office.
"Can you run out back and fetch Kevin? Tell him Mr. Lowery's on the phone for him. Says it's important."
Claire handed the farmer his receipt. "Have a nice day."
"Claire?"
"I'm going. Where is he?"
"Helping Ray unload the truck."
"Sure thing," she called back to Lydia then smiled to herself. Her father would be appalled at the way Lydia hollered her request and more put out with the fact his daughter had shouted back. Ladies didn't yell.
Claire pushed through the heavy back door to the loading dock and shielded her eyes from the glare of the bright midday sun. "Kevin?"
She walked toward the open end of the truck where she heard voices and the soft twang of a country radio station.
"Kevin?"
"Yeah?" He emerged from the shadows of the cargo hold of the truck, lugging a large box. Claire's feet faltered, and her breath lodged in her throat.
He wore no shirt, and a sheen of perspiration glistened on his chest and face. Though he couldn't be called muscle-bound, his shoulders rippled with sinew and strength. He had wide shoulders, capable of bearing a heavy load.
Kevin set the box on top of a stack of others waiting on a dolly, then pulled a rag from his back pocket to wipe his brow. "You need me?"
She tried to speak, but her voice tripped over the vision of his hard chest, sprinkled with dark hair and droplets of sweat. He raked his damp hair back and cocked his head. The sun cast his stubbled cheeks in harsh lines and rugged angles, and her mouth went dry.
"Claire? Did you call me?" With an athletic leap, he swung down from the back of the truck and moved toward her, still mopping sweat from his face and arms.
Once again Mrs. Proctor's rant from that morning flickered through her memory. Kevin deserves a woman who can see past what he doesn't have and see what he's got.
Well, she was looking at what Kevin got ,
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