Twelve #3
my hands. But every single time, when I lost something, I found something that was worlds better.” She reached out hesitantly
and touched his arm. “Life hurts,” she said softly. Her eyes met his. “Sometimes it hurts really bad. But there’s always something
just over the hill that makes up for the pain.” She smiled sadly. “My mother used to tell me that sorrow carves out a deep
place inside us for joy to fill. She was an incurable optimist. For her, the glass was always half-full, never half-empty.”
He caught her hand in his and studied her. He’d meant to snap at her for making a comment about his feelings for Stasia and
he was ready for a comeback. But she’d knocked the fire off his temper. She was so different from women he’d known. She had
that hard competence that sat so uneasily beside a personality that was alternately spicy and sweet. Add a touch of innocence
to the mix, and she became a conundrum.
“You don’t date much, do you?” he asked suddenly.
She blinked. The question was unexpected.
“Well, no, I don’t,” she said slowly. The feel of his hand around hers was making her giddy and she was trying not to show it.
“The world is so . . . well, so free and easy these days. My mother said a woman’s character was what gave her value.
And that if she passed herself around like a party favor, she’d end up alone and miserable, because the really good sort of person would draw back out of fear that she’d treat marriage as lightly as she treated her body.
In other words, she’d have no staying power in a long relationship.
” She shrugged. “That’s my dad in a nutshell.
The way he is, going from one woman to another without sentiment or real commitment, he’ll never settle into a lasting relationship.
He’ll keep changing women like shirts until he’s too old or too poor to attract any more of them.
” She shifted her foot on the fence rung.
“The older I get, the more I feel sorry for him. But it’s his example that’s kept me apart from relationships. I don’t want to end up like he has.”
“My parents were never like that,” John said solemnly.
She smiled up at him. “They’re both unique,” she said softly. “It shows, in the way all of you grew into responsible adults.
They did a good job of raising you.”
He brought her hand to his broad chest under the sheepskin coat he was wearing. “You’re not so bad, either,” he said involuntarily.
“Oh, sure,” she laughed nervously. He was closer than she’d realized. She could feel the heat and power of his body so close
to hers in the nippy December air. “Have you checked the online FBI’s most wanted list lately? I mean, I might be up there
one day . . .”
“Unlikely,” he said, his voice deepening as his blond head bent and his lips brushed her forehead. “You’re not a lost cause.
Ask my mother. She’s becoming your biggest fan.”
“Yes, but I’m . . . I’m a felon,” she said. Breathing was getting harder by the minute. And she was beginning to ache all
over. Unusual, scary feelings.
She started to take a step back, but a long, powerful arm slid around her shoulders, holding her gently in place.
“What are you afraid of?” he asked quietly, and when she lifted her eyes, he captured them.
It was a moment out of time. Everything stopped around them. The distant sound of cattle lowing, the whip of the cold wind,
the rattle of a windmill just beyond the barn that pumped water into a cattle trough. The sounds just vanished, like Josie’s
will.
The hand at her back drew her closer. “You smell of flowers,” he said at her ear as his lips brushed it.
He could feel her trembling. She might be a criminal, but she was no rounder.
He could feel the tremor run through her body, the same sort of tremor that one felt on a colt when it was first born and felt the touch of a human hand for the first time.
“Flowers?” she stammered, staring at him with her heart beating feverishly in her chest.
He nodded slowly. His gaze fell to her soft mouth and lingered there, curious, quiet, hungry.
“You aren’t what you seem, Josie,” he said, his voice deep and slow, the sound of her given name on his tongue exciting.
Her hands flattened on his soft shirt under the jacket. “I’m . . . I’m not a nice person,” she managed, her voice sounding
odd even to her.
He lowered his head. His mouth was almost touching hers. Almost. Almost! She could smell coffee on his breath, so close, so
tempting.
“Whatever you are,” he whispered as he stepped closer, “you take my breath away.”
She should move. Scream. Back up. Run for her life. Not get involved. She couldn’t get . . . involved. But he was close and
warm and strong, and she ached for him. Ached to have his mouth come down over hers and take possession of it, soothe the
ache that was consuming her, that was making her tremble all over.
A soft choked little sound escaped from her lips.
“Josie,” he breathed. His head bent.
“John?”
The call broke them apart as firmly as a baseball bat. John turned toward the back door. “I’m out here, Mom,” he said. His
voice sounded odd to Josie. It must have sounded odd to him, too, because he cleared his throat before he continued. “I just
put the bull back up!”
“Oh, okay,” Heather said, coming down the steps. “Are you two going to finish decorating the tree with JJ?”
John blinked. “Sure!” he replied. “I’ve got men working on the grate,” he added, waiting for Josie to catch up as he walked toward the back door.
“JJ can’t reach high enough to put the Star Wars ornament,” Heather laughed. She’d noticed the strange hesitation of the two people beside her and guessed that something
was smoldering there. It made her happy. She was sure that Josie wasn’t a bad person. And finally, John was looking at a woman
who wasn’t married to his brother. It was such a relief. She’d been sad for John. He’d really suffered over his infatuation
with Stasia, but this pretty little redhead was taking him in a different direction. It would be the right one, Heather was
sure.
“I like Star Wars,” Josie said as John held the door open for her and Heather.
“Me, too,” John replied. “But I like The Mandalorian best.”
Josie grinned. “Me, too.” She only glanced at him, but she flushed at the same time.
He felt a foot taller when she looked at him like that. He grinned to himself as he followed the women into the house.