look at her. “Ethan, have I done something to offend you?”
He looked now, his gaze narrowed, his brows furrowed. “No.”
She waited for him to ask why. He went back to moving furniture.
Sara mentally counted to ten, then picked up the dust mop and attacked the floor with a vengeance. When she’d finished one side of the room, he quietly began returning the chairs and tables to their original places. She continued working, countering his silence with her own, until he put the brown leather club chair in the corner near the fireplace.
She opened her mouth to tell him it couldn’t go there, but a perverse streak of rebellion changed her mind. Instead, she leaned the dust mop against the stone hearth and dragged the chair three feet to the left.
Dusting her hands together and standing back to see if she’d cleared enough space for the Christmas tree, out of the corner of her eye, she caught Ethan scowling at her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” His words were low and deliberate.
She turned a smile on him. “Me?”
“Are you that bound and determined to hurt yourself?”
“Come here.”
His glare melted and he blinked. “Why?”
She scooted around the couch and approached him, amazed when he actually took a step back, fear flashing in his eyes. “I’m not going to bite.” She stopped directly in front of him and flexed her right bicep. “Feel this.”
A startled laugh lightened his expression. “What?”
“I’m serious. Feel this.”
“Why?”
Impatient, she grabbed his hand, but she wasn’t prepared for the slightly rough texture of his fingertips and her thoughts skittered in a shocking direction. Quickly, she composed herself, then brought his hand to the small but firmly carved muscle she had developed over the years.
Astonishment flickered in his eyes.
“Not bad, huh?” She released his hand almost as hastily as he pulled it away.
His gaze met hers, held it for a moment, and then he slowly, wordlessly shook his head and took two steps back.
“Ethan.” She cupped her hips and stomped a foot. “Would you tell me what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He picked his hat up off the table near the door. Their gazes met again, and something in his eyes sent a shaft of heat through her. “I just remembered something I forgot,” he mumbled, and took off for his truck.
“Damn coward,” she muttered, then took a deep breath, relieved he was gone.
ETHAN THREW his hat down on the passenger side of the truck, picked it up and threw it down again. He’d forgotten how stubborn females could be.
Not Emily, though, he amended. She was as sweet-natured as they came. He pictured her sitting near the fireplace on the brown club chair, knitting or crocheting, smiling and humming as she worked. A cross word never fell from her lips. The one time he’d heard her say darn she’d been horribly embarrassed.
Relief and guilt warred within him. This was the first time he could remember thinking about her without a knife slicing through his heart. Time would lessen the pain and grief, his friends and neighbors had told him. He hadn’t believed them. Hadn’t wanted to believe them. Emily deserved more from him.
His gaze strayed toward the house, his thoughts toward the little spitfire inside. She may look small and fragile, but she had muscles in her arms that would put some of his ranch hands to shame. Still, her biceps weren’t all that big, more unexpected because she looked so feminine with all that flowing red-gold hair and full wide mouth, and it got him wondering about where else she might have a muscle or two that would surprise him.
Disgusted as he was with his thoughts, he couldn’t let go of them. Sara’s smile had somehow dug a groove in the replay area of his brain and kept bushwhacking him when he least expected it. Like last night in the shower, and then after he’d hung his hat for the night. What he had to do was get the hell out of here. Go string some fence. Chop wood. Take Jet for a long ride. The stallion hadn’t been exercised today.
And when Ethan was finished, he’d go straight back to his shack in his own corner of the world and stay put until it was time to pick up the girls. He glanced at his watch. Erika and Denise would be here in less than twenty-four hours and he’d have more than he could handle. Sam could give Sara a check out of the ranch account and Ethan wouldn’t have to see her again.
He patted his shirt pocket for his keys. Then his jeans pocket. No keys. He patted his shirt again. What in the hell had he done—
“Mr. Ethan?”
He turned abruptly at the sound of Misty’s soft voice. She immediately turned pink and half hid behind the white picket gate to the sidewalk.
Oh, hell. He cleared his throat. “Yeah?”
“Are you coming back?”
His gaze rose over her head. Had Sara put the girl up to this? “Does your mom know where you are?”
Her eyes got big, and she shook her head.
“She’s not going to like you being out here alone.”
A shy smile lifted her tiny lips. “I’m not alone. I’m with you.”
Something in her tone and face tugged at him. Something akin to trust. It pierced a corner of his ice-encased heart, shattering it, the pieces melting faster than he knew how to respond. “Well, I’m not sticking around, so you’d better go inside.”
He expected her to bolt for the house. He didn’t want her trust. Didn’t deserve it. Emily had trusted him. Look where it got her.
Obviously he hadn’t sounded as gruff as he thought. Misty’s expression didn’t even waver. “When are you coming back?”
He passed a weary hand over his face. “I don’t think I am.”
Alarm widened pretty blue eyes so much like her mother’s. “Who’s going to bring us dinner?”
Surprised, Ethan frowned, then started to chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s not polite to laugh at somebody.”
“I’m sorry.”
The corners of her mouth started to lift again. “Mom says you’re a nice man. You’re not really a grouch. Just maybe sad about something.”
Ethan’s humor fled. What did Sara think she was doing analyzing him?
From inside the house, Sara’s panicked voice called out for her daughter. Misty spun toward the sound, then she looked back at him. “Don’t tell her I was out here, okay?”
He nodded.
“Promise?”
