parents had died in a car accident just months past her nineteenth birthday. Somehow she’d convinced a judge to give her custody of her little brother. Her plans for college, dating, getting married, had ended the day she and Brandon walked through the doors of their house. He had needed her.
The truck slowed, then bounced and bumped up the long driveway to her house. She opened her eyes as they drew close to the little white house she’d been raised in. Her stomach churned, thinking about how hard it had been lately to hold on to it.
She’d lost a decent job in Grove and replaced it with an okay job at the feed store in Dawson. She’d had to take out a loan against the place to put the new roof on last summer and then to pay for the medical bills when Brandon broke his arm.
“You okay?”
Gage’s voice cut into her thoughts. Why’d he have to sound like he cared? Oh, that’s right, because he was good at pretending. For a second she’d almost fallen for it. Again. And that made her feel sixteen and naive. The way she’d been when he’d sat down next to her at lunch one day back in high school. He’d offered her a piece of his mom’s pie and then told her he needed help with chemistry.
“I’m good,” she answered. She’d fallen in love with him her junior year. He’d walked her to class. He’d taken her to the Mad Cow Café; he’d been sweet.
He stopped the truck in front of her house and before she could protest, he walked around to her side to open the door. The last thing she wanted from him was chivalry. She didn’t want or need his kindness.
“I said I’m good.” She hopped down from the truck. “I didn’t get my knee busted up in the world finals or get a concussion that knocked me out for a day.”
“But I won.” He grinned and she held her breath, because that handsome, cowboy grin with those hazel green eyes of his could do a number on any girl, even one who wasn’t interested.
He was scruffy, and sorely needed a shave and a haircut, because his brown hair was shaggy. That made her smile a little, because she liked the thought of the homecoming he’d get looking like something the dog dragged in on the carpet. Ripped jeans, threadbare T-shirt beneath a denim jacket and several days behind in shaving. His mom, Angie Cooper, wouldn’t be happy.
“I’m going inside,” she announced.
He glanced away from her, to the stack of wood at the side of the house and then up, at the thin stream of smoke coming from the chimney. “I’ll grab some wood.”
“Please don’t.”
He turned and looked at her. The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle, but drops of moisture dripped from his hat. She swiped at her face and headed to the porch. “Go home.”
“I’m going to get you a stack of wood and make you a pot of coffee.”
“I drink tea.”
“I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
She stomped up to him. “I don’t want you to do this. Your guilt is the last thing I need.”
“It isn’t...” He shrugged off the denial. “I’m going to get you a load of wood in and make you a cup of tea while you get warm.”
“I would rather you not. I can get my own firewood and make my own tea.”
For a second she thought he might leave. He looked down at her, emotions flickering through his eyes. And then he smiled. “Layla, I’m sorry. It was a long time ago, and I haven’t done much to make things right. Let me get the wood. Please.”
Contrition. She always fell for it. Every time her little brother said he’d help more or do better, she believed him. Gage had soft eyes that almost convinced her he meant what he said. Besides, she was older now. She could withstand that Cooper charm.
“Okay.” She inclined her head to the woodpile. “Thank you.”
As he trudged off, grabbing a wheelbarrow along the way, she headed for the house. She’d managed to get a wreath on the front door and the other day she’d bought a pine-scented candle. That was as far as she’d gotten with Christmas cheer.
When she walked through the front door she shivered and wanted to keep her jacket on. But it was soaked through. She hung it on the coatrack by the door and did a quick search for her brother.
Brandon was nowhere to be seen. She thought maybe he’d taken off with friends while she’d been out in the barn. He was hard to keep hold of these days. And he was less help now than he’d been as a little boy.
She needed some warm clothes. The sound of wood thumping into a wheelbarrow meant Gage was still outside. She hurried upstairs to her room and pulled a warm sweatshirt over her T-shirt. Her hair was still wet so she ran a towel over her head, then dried her face. As she walked down the stairs, she heard clanking and banging from the living room. Wood smoke filled the air and she smiled.
Gage Cooper squatted in front of her cantankerous old fireplace insert, rattling the vents and coughing as smoke filled the room. She hurried forward and twisted the right lever. The smoke started up the chimney again. He looked up at her.
“Sorry, I couldn’t get it to work.”
She shrugged off the apology. “It takes skill.”
“I have skill.”
“Of course you do.” She glanced at the pile of wood on the hearth. “Thank you for bringing that in. I could make you a cup of coffee but I don’t have a coffeemaker. I only drink tea.”
“I’m good.” He shoved in another log. The embers glowed brighter, sparked, and the fire came back to life. “There you go.”
He pushed himself to his feet. Layla’s hand went out to steady him, but she pulled back, unwilling to make contact. He smiled at her, as if he knew.
“I’ll make tea.” She walked away, leaving him to make the slow trail after her. “And then you should go.”
She called back the last without looking at him.
He chuckled in response.
When he entered the kitchen she turned, watching as he sat at the rickety old table that had been in the house since before her birth. The wood had faded. The chairs wobbled. She’d tightened them dozens of times over the years but they were close to being firewood.
“So, how’s...”
She cut him off. “Let’s not make small talk and pretend to be friends.”
The microwave beeped and she pulled out a cup of hot water, dropping a tea bag in before chastising herself for sounding like a shrew. But the stern lecture didn’t last long. He deserved her anger.
She looked at him as she dunked the tea bag. He had settled on one of those wobbly chairs, his left leg straight in front of him. His hat was on the table and he’d folded his arms over his chest.
“I’m sorry that I hurt you.”
“I think you’ve said that before.”
