by Jillian Hart
The store was warm and busy, full of people sipping hot drinks and nibbling on cookies. Piano music piped in over the speakers accompanied the low roar of conversation. He picked out Colbie in the crowd, who was tall and slender, talking to a foursome of high school girls, about the kid’s age.
“Gotta go charm the ladies.” Marcus winked, so sure of himself, as he sauntered away. “Adios.”
“Bye, Marcus.” Bree’s melodic voice warmed with humor. “Anyone can see you’ve done a great job with him. I didn’t ask. Are you raising him on your own, or is his mom nearby, too?”
“No, Jean stayed in California. I’m solely responsible for the boy, for better or worse.” Max winced as the kid strolled up to Colbie and the knot of girls like he was a movie star. “That boy has self-confidence in spades. I don’t know where he gets it.”
“I can’t imagine.” Her tone was both wry and light at the same time.
It was tempting to want to look at her, to take in her beauty and her light, to let the inevitable happen. But he held back. He knew better. When he wanted to banter, maybe add some self-deprecating humor, he took a step away from her and focused his eyes on his brother—not on Brianna.
He cleared his throat, just in case any of that wish would be a hint in his voice. “I’m going to blow this joint. Got things to do.”
Dry cleaning to drop off. Bills to mail at the post office. A few groceries to pick up. But she didn’t need to know the mundane details. Best not to let this be personal, not anymore.
“Oh. Aren’t you going to stay?”
He strained to pick up any disappointment in her words, but he couldn’t be sure. When he grabbed hold of the door, he denied he was feeling any form of that same emotion. “As Marcus said, I’m his ride. How long will this shindig last?”
“Probably a couple hours.”
Time to go. He wasn’t going to stand around and watch her talk with any of the guys in the room. There were quite a few of them, neat and well-dressed young men, who looked polite and proper and well versed in which forks to use at the dinner table. He stared hard at the doorframe and not at her. “Enjoy.”
“It’s a possibility. I don’t see any dudes with a nose ring or a Mohawk. It’s more promising than the last time Colbie tried to set me up.”
“Then I wish you luck.” He instructed his feet to move, but they stayed rooted to the floor. To be honest, he didn’t want to leave. He wouldn’t mind spending the next few hours or so talking with Bree, basking in the glow of her gentle smile and giving in to the need to care about her even more.
But he felt every one of his twenty-nine years. Every shadow of his experience. Every mile of the road he had walked. He spent his days on the dark side of life, and that had changed him. He would never be one of those fresh-faced guys wearing a shirt and tie, who saw life as an easier, friendlier place. Men like those over there by the book display had time and a whole heart to give to a lady.
All he had was a battered and bruised soul. She deserved better. Even if the thought of her gazing up at one of those guys with her earnest violet eyes and sweet smile made him want to put his hand through the glass. Not that he would, of course. It took all his self-control to face her. To do this the right way. “See you around, Brianna.”
“You don’t want a cookie before you leave?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a cookie kind of guy.”
“I’m not sure what a cookie kind of guy is.”
“Try over there.” He gestured with a single nod at the crowd of single men talking near the devotionals display before he pulled open the door.
A pair of women were on their way in, and he held the door for them. The newcomers made it impossible to say more. She waited. The damp and cold blew in, and she shivered.
“Maybe Colbie got it right this time,” he said as he backed through the door.
“Maybe.” She wrapped her arms around her middle, cold from the blast of the wind and from something else. “Drive safe in that storm.”
“Sure.” That was his last word to her as his boot hit the sidewalk and he let the door close. She thought she saw a look of regret in his dream-blue eyes, but she couldn’t be sure. He took the final step that launched him out of the light’s reach and he became a shadow and then nothing at all.
“He’s not staying?” A hand landed on her shoulder, a comforting touch. Colbie joined her at the window, trying to catch sight of the man in the downpour.
“No. He said he had things to do.”
“You sound a little sad about that. Do you like him?”
She jerked inside at the personal question. Equal parts of panic and sorrow filled her. “What’s not to like?”
“Exactly.” Colbie’s grip tightened comfortingly. “He likes you.”
“I don’t think so.” Why else would he walk away. Again? “It’s probably for the best. He makes me panic.”
“Panic? As in you’re afraid of him?”
“Not of him.” She swallowed, feeling sorely alone as she stared out into the night. A set of red taillights glinted faintly through the dark. Max’s truck? Probably. “I didn’t know how hard it was to almost get what you want.”
“I’m not following you.” Colbie’s words were kind and sympathetic, although she didn’t understand.
How could she? Bree didn’t understand it herself. “When I’m with him, it’s like standing on the top of the tallest mountain in the world, without a parka to keep me warm or a rope to anchor me, and feeling the glacier I’m standing on begin to crack. It’s a long way to fall.”
“It’s a lot to live up to.”
“Exactly.” And she left unsaid the other fears. Of not being enough. Of being so vulnerable. Of being so close to someone. Of losing what matters most. “I’m starting to rethink my decision to find Mr. Perfect. It’s a rocky, perilous road.”
“Amen, sister.”
Did Colbie have those same fears? It didn’t make her feel any less alone. “I need some carbs. That’s bound to cheer me up.”
“Come with me. I brought Mom with me tonight. I know she’d like to talk with you.” Colbie took her by the hand, and they headed to the cookie table together.
All through his errands, Max had been frustrated with himself. How come doing the right thing didn’t feel that way? He’d groused about it as he tossed a head of iceberg lettuce into a bag and went on to grab a bag of carrots. By the time he stood in line at the checkout, he had almost been good with it. Even he would have matched up dear, sweet Brianna with one of those fresh-faced, clean-cut types. Nothing to be unhappy about, right?
The line moved up, and he angled the cart to the stand and began unloading. The checker chatted with the customer ahead of him, making small talk as he dumped a half dozen cans of chili onto the belt. He was good with his life as it was, right? He liked being a lone wolf. Thanks to the lessons he had learned from Nancy, it was better that way. Safer.
But as he loaded a six-pack of cola next to the chili, he realized something had changed. He couldn’t put his thumb on what. He kept unloading vegetables, deli meat, chips and a loaf of bread, working quick and efficiently. His thoughts kept returning to Brianna, looking upset as she’d wrestled with her seat belt and how she had stumbled out of the car. How she had looked so lovely in the rain.
The conveyer belt chugged his stuff up to the cashier, who smiled at him. “Did you find everything you were looking for?”
He nodded once, but he couldn’t say that he had. Brianna’s image stuck with him, vulnerable and petite and fragile-looking. If he hadn’t known about what she’d been through, he would never have guessed her strength or the magnitude of her valor. He couldn’t say he didn’t admire her for that.
Fine, maybe he more than admired her.
The drive through the evening streets proved uneventful. Rain hammered the vehicle with enough force, the wipers couldn’t keep up. Water levels grew on the roads and ran in streams along the curb. The traffic was ligh
t, and he pulled into the bookstore’s lot in record time.
Did he go in? He sat in the truck, the engine idling, the defroster battling the fog at the rim of the windshield. The world was night shadows and rain, shades of black and gray. Maybe that’s why his gaze was attracted to the lemony light behind the store’s glass windows and the splashes of color from the book displays and the people as they sat in folding chairs, lined up listening to a blond lady talk to the group. Someone raised their hand—looked like a question-and-answer session of some kind—and the blond lady answered with a pleasant smile. It was all very nice, sure. But it wasn’t why his gaze was drawn to the bright lights and honey colors and the tranquil scene.
No. It was a certain woman he searched for. Her particular shade of perfect gold hair. Her darling face he longed to see.
This is not like you, Max. He shook his head, unhappy with himself even as he searched for her through the rain-streaked glass. When he found her on the far side of the crowd, she wasn’t seated like everyone else. No, Brianna knelt at the side of an older woman in a wheelchair, her face upturned, filled with love.
His battered, sorry heart turned over and thumped to life one painful beat followed by another. Feelings he’d thought had died long ago flooded his chest, leaving him helpless and drowning.
You’ve got to stop this now, man. He shut off the engine and yanked the keys from the ignition, the rounding drum of the rain on the roof the only sound. Somehow he had to figure how to stuff those feelings back inside where they’d been hiding. He was not a guy run by emotions. He was methodical and logical. That’s what made him a good detective, and a prudent man.
When he climbed out of the truck, he concentrated on the cold slap of rain against his face and the splash of his boots in the puddled lot. If his gaze didn’t stray from her, then he didn’t worry about it. He was in control of his emotions, in control of his heart.
If it seemed to him that she was the most beautiful girl in the room, then it was only a fact, not his feelings taking over. If the light seemed to follow her, and the gold in her hair gleamed like platinum, then it wasn’t because he was sweet on her. Her beauty was a fact, like the storm and the concrete curb he was stepping over. Verifiable facts, which anyone could agree on. The fact that he could not force his gaze from her was immaterial.
She drew him through the darkness and into the light, from the cold of the storm into the store’s sheltering warmth. Rain sluiced down his face, and he swiped it away. The pleasant noise of conversations, the people, the fragrance of brewing coffee and spiced cider faded into nothing. All he could see was Brianna, folding her skirt as she slipped into a chair beside the older woman. All he could hear was the low tones of Brianna’s voice, as the speaker relinquished the floor. All he could sense was her startled gaze as she glanced over her shoulder to see him.
Her reaction came purely, simply. Her eyes lit with subtle fondness, and when a smile touched her soft lips, it was like a new beginning.
He couldn’t deny it any longer. He wasn’t the same man. He had changed, and it was because of her.
Chapter Eight
Brianna rose on shaky knees. Max was back. She was up on that mountain again, feeling the glacier crack beneath her feet. She laid a hand on Lil’s arm. “I’m going to get some tea. Do you want a refill?”
“No, I’m fine, dear. You go on.”
Somehow she circled around the wheelchair and the rows of emptying chairs. She was halfway to the beverage table before she realized it. The reason: Max strode toward her, sucking all the air in the room and the cells from her brain as he approached.
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t speak. All she could see was him drawing nearer, his boots eating up the distance until suddenly he towered over her. Her skin prickled as if lightning was about to strike. She felt vulnerable, down to the quick, down to the soul. How could a man have such an emotional impact on her? It was as if he were a force field, and being near him disabled her defensive shields.
“Let me.” He took the cup from her grip, commanding and shy all at once. “I saw you weren’t alone.”
“No, I certainly wasn’t. With Lil, it was love at first sight.”
“Lil? Is she your mom?” He strode over to the table and grabbed hold of the hot water carafe. Although more distance separated them, he felt closer than ever.
“No, she’s Colbie’s mom. But I’ve adopted her.”
“I can see why.”
Everything around her seemed perfectly normal: the steaming tea, the plop of the bag into the water, the faint sound of a romantic piano lilting from the store speakers. She didn’t feel normal. Not even a little bit. As if suddenly she found herself staring thousands of feet straight down a mountainside and discovering she had a serious fear of heights.
“What about your mom?” she asked, her wobbly hands separating a clean cup off the stack. “Are you close?”
“Sure. She’s retired to Palm Springs. She’s popular around Christmastime, especially with the weather around here. We keep in touch, mostly e-mail. Has the kid been giving you any trouble tonight?”
“No.” She set the cup on the table, waiting for him to pour. She had to steel herself. Max had a habit of walking away. He was just here to get his brother and then he’d be gone, that was all. She had to survive only a few more minutes, and the discomforting sense of terror would be over. “Marcus has been amusing us all evening.”
“Yeah, he’s good at that. Let me guess.” He slipped a protective sleeve on the cup before setting it on the table for her. “He’s tried his charms on every teenage girl here and they all rejected him.”
“That would be putting it mildly.”
“Yeah, the kid thinks he’s with-it, but he hasn’t found a girlfriend yet. And it’s not for lack of trying.” He took the empty cup and filled it, too. “He’s sadly lacking when it comes to conversing with the ladies. I would help him if I could, but you’ve seen me in action. And you’ve heard about my worst date failure.”
“True. Poor Marcus. He’s about as hopeless as his big brother is.”
“That’s the truth.” He poked through the open boxes and chose a mint tea bag.
“Although I am a little sweet on him. Marcus, I mean.” Why did she say that? Worse, she was blushing. If she kept this up, Max was going to guess in about the next two seconds she had a serious crush on him.
“I could tell.” He simply shrugged one wide shoulder as he tore open the packet and dunked the bag into the water. “So, did you meet any promising single men?”
There was a telling question. Panic tapped through her veins in a sprightly staccato. “I met a lot of people tonight.”
Not a single one of the perfectly nice Christian men could hold a candle to Max.
“Me being here with you right now is wrecking your chances of a decent guy coming over to ask you out.” His observation sounded casual as he leaned against the wall, looking like a hero come to life. All he was missing was an Indiana Jones hat and a sidekick.
“You’re not a decent guy?”
“I’m not what you’re looking for, that’s for sure.” He took a cautious sip of tea.
“You say that like you know what I’m looking for.”
“It’s no mystery, Bree. Look at you. You could be Candy Cane Princess at the Christmas parade.”
“And that means I’m looking for the Candy Cane Prince?”
“Funny.” He didn’t laugh but his dark eyes glinted with amusement. “You need someone normal. Tame. Tie-wearing. The kind of guy who isn’t afraid to eat quiche and cry.”
“A lot you know about me.” She joined him at the wall. The panic could go away any time, thanks, because there was no reason for it. Why wasn’t her heart listening? “What about you? There are still lots of nice women here. You could mingle. See if anyone strikes your fancy.”
“I’m not really interested in dating.” He took another sip of tea, as if that was the end of the topic.
Not a
chance, bud. Her curiosity was hooked. “If you’re not interested in dating, then why were you out on a blind date?”
“Peer pressure.” A wry grin hooked the corner of his mouth.
“I can’t see a big strong man like you succumbing to peer pressure.”
“I was just trying to fit in. Be like the rest of the guys with their wives and fiancées,” he quipped, dimples carving deep. “I struck out, which was just as well. My dating history is abysmal.”
“Abysmal is better than practically nonexistent.”
“Wait, now you’ve got to have had a boyfriend before.”
“Nope, no boyfriends.” Hard to admit. Very hard. She took a sip of tea and stared at the crowd. Some people were starting to leave. Lil, bless her, was chatting happily to Lucy, the author who had come to speak to the group tonight.
“Not one boyfriend? I don’t believe it.”
“It’s true.” Bree felt her insides coil up. She didn’t like looking back into the past. “Why do you think I let Colbie set me up on so many blind dates?”
“You mean you’ve been out on dates, just not anything serious, like with a fiancé.”
“No. I have never let any guy get that close.” The truth made her feel even more unprotected, as if she were starting to tumble right off the top of that impossibly high mountain with no safety rope to catch her. “My high school years were too chaotic. My dad left, my mom found a new husband and he was mean. The last thing I wanted was to try to trust another guy.”
“High school was a long time ago.”
“True, but when Brandi and I moved here to Bozeman to attend the university, life became good. Really good.” With the way the light shone on her, she looked spotlighted, as if a painter had rendered her that way, the center of someone’s world. “We rented our own little place, and suddenly we were settled. None of Mom’s meltdowns or all-night arguments. We were stable. Brandi and I were in charge. We could make sure we had a place to live because we paid the rent on time. We had enough food in the house because we had jobs. Our money wasn’t always disappearing. We had peaceful evenings and uninterrupted sleep.”