that in a man, too. He had nice eyes—kind ones—and she was a sucker for a good-hearted man. How was she going to ever say no to this one?
Willpower, she directed herself. “I’m supposed to be the hostess. You’ve flown all this way to be Ben’s best man. The least I can do is talk you into sitting down and putting up your feet.”
“Good luck. But let me warn you, I’m stubborn.”
“I’m stubborn, too.” There was no way she was going to give in to the temptation to place her fingertips on his big rough palm.
Oh yes, she wanted to. His palm was wide and relaxed, and calluses roughened the skin at the base of his fingers. He worked hard. She liked that in a man too.
His hands had scars—not big ones, just nicks that had long healed over, and those calluses. She imagined him fast-roping from a helicopter or carrying wounded on a litter. Essentially male, wholly masculine, everything a man ought to be.
And suddenly she felt it in the pit of her stomach. A little tingle of anxiety. Her shyness seemed to rear up and leave her speechless. It was one thing to have her brother’s military buddy drop by. It was another to be alone with a smart, brave and warm-hearted soldier.
If only she could untie the knot her tongue had gotten itself into and say something wonderful to make him laugh some more. To show off the dimples in his hard, carved cheeks.
“I’m waiting.” He arched one brow, but he wasn’t intimidating in the least. He should be—he was a big man, and the slightest movement made muscles ripple beneath his sun-bronzed skin.
But he was a gentle giant down deep, Rachel was sure of it. “How about you and Sally sit down with me? We’ll find something on the tube that all three of us can enjoy and after a while, I’ll sneak into the kitchen and start supper.”
“There’ll be no sneaking on my watch. I’ve got a sharp eye.” His hand hovered in a silent question.
And she answered just as quietly by placing her fingers in the center of his palm. Wow. It was all she could think the instant they touched. An energy jolted through her like a lightning strike—or heaven’s touch.
She felt seared all the way to her soul. It was as if her entire central nervous system short-circuited—she couldn’t seem to talk. She could barely manage to be coordinated enough to sit down.
Wow, was all her poor fried brain could think. Wow. Wow. Wow. Lord, he can’t be the one. He can’t be. Look how he acted as if nothing had happened. It probably hadn’t on his end. She searched his clear dark eyes and the calm steady way he moved away from her with sheer athletic grace as he ambled out of sight.
She’d read about moments like this, that instant punch of something extra that said this man was special. Above the ordinary. Meant to last. Okay, she read inspirational romances one after another. She always had her nose in one, but she’d never believed, never thought once that it could happen to her.
Not that it was a life-changing moment. It was just a snap of something extra, making her more aware of this man’s goodness than others she’d come across.
Why? He couldn’t be the one. He lived on the other side of the country and he worked in faraway places on other continents. Plus, he was leaving after the wedding.
He’s not the one. She was imagining all this, right? She was tired, she hadn’t eaten since she’d been able to work in an early sandwich before the lunchtime rush. She was feeling the weight of being a bridesmaid for the umpteenth time. Not that she minded, no way. And especially because this was her brother’s wedding.
But she wanted to be a bride. She wanted the real thing, a sweet storybook wedding with the man she would love for all time. That’s why she was feeling this…wishful thinking. Pretty powerful, but wishful thinking all the same.
The pleasant rumble of his voice from the kitchen drew her attention. It was like a tingling warmth in her heart, and she’d never felt that before either. She could hear Sally’s answer and then the faint scrape of the wood chair on tile.
That’s why I feel so wowed by him. It all made sense now. She loved a man who was good with children. And his niece was a cutie, that was for sure. It was sweet he was spending time with her. And now that she knew why she was so taken with him, it would be easier to keep things in perspective.
“Hey, Rachel.” Jake rounded the corner with Sally at his side, her small hand engulfed by his huge one. “Mind if she uses the facilities?”
“First door on the right.” Rachel stood, but Jake waved her back and deftly disappeared beyond the edge of the fireplace. In a few seconds, a door closed down the hall.
What she really ought to do was to take another crack at finding that roast. The soda would keep—it was fizzing and bubbling merrily in the cartoon cup.
As for her aching feet, she could get a few more hours out of them, she thought as she cut through the dining room and dashed down the basement steps. Her guests would be busy for a few moments, and if she could just find that roast—
“Running away from me?” Jake’s baritone was filled with friendly, warm amusement.
Good thing she wasn’t affected. “Not running any farther than the freezer. Why don’t you help yourself to the remote? I don’t mean to be a bad hostess, I’m just digging stuff out for supper.”
“Suppose I help you with that?” His steps sounded behind her on the stairs.
“Oh, I can get things just fine.” Actually, what she needed was someone who was tall enough to reach all the way to the bottom of the freezer. Was she going to admit that to him? No. “I’ll be right up, okay?”
No answer was forthcoming, although the approaching rasp of sneakers on the cement floor trailed her to the freezer room. Rachel yanked on the light.
And there he was, he’d caught up to her, and let out a breath of awe. “Wow. Did you do all this canning?”
“My sisters lent a hand.” She supposed the floor-to-ceiling shelving and all the jars sitting on them did look impressive. “We like to can.”
“I’ll say.”
“It’s something our mom used to do. She’d get all of us to help her, even Amy when she was just a preschooler. We’d all peel and cook and fill jars.” She reached to open the freezer lid, but his hand was already there, lifting the lid and exposing the icy contents to the glare of the light.
That’s how she felt, illuminated in the deep reaches of her self. How could talking about the preserving jars on the shelf do that? Simple, she realized. “It was everything good in our childhoods. Maybe that sounds corny, but the memories are good ones. The kind that really matter.”
“That make you who you are?”
His comment surprised her, this tough commando who had lobbed a rock like a grenade in the driveway as if at war. He was understanding, and she decided she liked him even more. “When my sisters and I do our yearly frenzy of making jams and canning, it always brings us back, makes us part again of that time in our childhoods when Mom was alive and her warm laughter seemed to bounce around the kitchen like sunbeams.”
Sometimes
