can leave your plate outside the bedroom door,” she said in that same gentle voice. What would it take to rattle a woman like April? “I’ll clean it when I get back.”
“Fine,” he said, purposely not thanking her or acknowledging the effort she’d put into the meal that smelled better than anything he’d eaten in ages. His rudeness was another shield, and he’d need as many as he could create to resist the things April made him feel.
April let herself into the main cabin before sunrise the next morning. The girls were still sleeping and, before leaving the caretaker’s cabin, she’d prepared a pan of cinnamon rolls to bake when she returned. She needed to make breakfast for her cantankerous guest but didn’t want to take the chance of seeing Connor again so soon. The previous night had jumbled her nerves in a way she barely recognized.
Connor Pierce was arrogant, ill-mannered and a borderline bully. But the pain she’d seen in his eyes when he spoke of the accident that had claimed his wife and son touched her at a soul-deep level. Just as his actual touch made her skin heat with need. Her reaction was inappropriate at best and, more likely, damaging to a heart she’d learned the hard way to protect and guard.
Thankfully, he hadn’t reappeared last night when she’d returned to clean the kitchen. His empty plate had been left on the counter, the cabin quiet as she’d put everything away. A light had still burned in the upstairs window when she’d walked across the dark night to her cabin but that had been the only indication Connor was still awake.
April was grateful since she wasn’t sure she would have been able to resist questioning him more on the heartbreak of losing his family. There was no doubt the grief had been substantial, and she could use advice on how to guide Ranie and Shay through the sorrow of losing someone they loved, even if the circumstances were totally different. April had thought she understood heartbreak after her divorce but later realized that the scars from Daniel leaving had more to do with rejection and humiliation than love.
She started coffee, preheated the oven and then unpacked the lidded container she’d prepped at the other cabin. There was a nonstick muffin tin in the drawer next to the oven, and she began to dump egg-white-and-vegetable mix into the openings. Each move she made was quiet and purposeful so as not to make noise. Her goal was to get everything ready, then leave before Connor woke.
“You’re up early.”
April jumped at the sound of that gravelly voice behind her, the mixture sloshing over the side of the glass bowl. “Is your goal to give me a heart attack?” She set the bowl on the counter and grabbed a wad of paper towels to clean up the mess.
“You spook easily,” he told her. “It’s the only time you raise your voice.”
“You shouldn’t sneak up on people. It’s rude.” Tossing the paper towels into the trash can under the sink, April turned, planning to enlighten Connor Pierce on what she sounded like when shock turned to anger. The words caught in her throat at the sight of him standing on the far side of the island wearing only a pair of loose gym shorts, his chest broad and hard and glistening with sweat.
Glistening. Oh, my.
“There’s a workout room downstairs,” he said, wiping a small white towel across his face and down his front. April followed the movement, the muscles and smattering of hair across his chest making her mouth go dry. She’d thought herself immune to men and the heavy pull of attraction since her divorce. Many of her girlfriends in Crimson were involved with handsome men, but April had never noticed any of them other than with the affection reserved for brothers.
What she felt for Connor was different and dangerous.
Instead of berating him more for startling her, she asked, “Do you need anything?” and hated that she sounded breathless.
“A shower.”
Spoken in his deep voice, those two words sounded like an invitation. April felt her cheeks color. She grabbed the muffin tin and shoved it into the oven, hoping the heat that wafted out would provide a decent excuse for her blush. “I can have breakfast ready in about twenty minutes. Are you always up at this time?”
“I don’t sleep much.”
“Too inspired?”
She’d been referring to his writing, but one side of his mouth kicked up like he’d taken the question another way. “Not yet,” he answered. “But there’s time for that.”
She didn’t understand his mood this morning. He was relaxed and almost flirty, different from the tense, bitter man she’d encountered yesterday.
“Working out helps me,” he offered, as if reading her mind. “Gives me an outlet that I find calming.”
“I teach yoga,” she said with a nod. She opened the dishwasher and started putting away the clean dishes. “It does the same thing.”
“Do you teach at Crimson Ranch?” He moved closer, took a seat at the island. Connor seemed unaware of the effect his upper body was having on her, and she tried to ignore her reaction. Even if he hadn’t been a guest, this man was not for her.
She filled a glass with water and placed it on the counter in front of him. “During the summer months, I teach at the ranch. There’s also a community center in town that offers classes, and another studio between Crimson and Aspen.”
“You’ve done yoga for a while?” he asked, taking a long drink. A droplet of water traced a path along his strong jaw, then over his throat and down the hard planes of his chest. He wiped it away, then met her gaze. It took April several seconds to realize he was waiting for an answer to his question.
“Almost fifteen years.” She concentrated on unloading the dishwasher as she spoke. “I had some injuries from dancing when I was younger, and yoga helped my body heal. I owned a studio in California for a while.” She’d loved the studio she’d built from the ground up, but it had become one more casualty of her illness and then the divorce.
“But you teach for other people here?”
April felt her eyes narrow. Connor was a little too insightful. The woman who owned the private studio outside of town had offered to sell the business to April on several occasions. Marty was in her seventies, ready to retire and move closer to her adult children and their families, but she felt a loyalty to the local clients she had in the area. April knew the older woman had received offers from at least two national chains, but Marty hoped her studio would remain locally owned.
“It gives me more flexibility,” she answered.
“Do you travel?”
She focused her attention on the basket of knives and forks. “No.”
“Have a big family?”
She shook her head, not liking where this line of questioning was leading.
“Why is flexibility important?”
How was she supposed to explain? It was the answer she always gave, and no one had ever questioned her answer. Not until Connor.
April
