“Curious?” she asked. “You bet. What are you going to do with those tree trunks?” The smallest of them was three feet around and two feet high.
“Work on them when I get a minute to myself.” That leave-me-alone tone was back, and Joy decided not to push her luck any further. She’d gotten more than a few words out of him today and maybe they’d reached his limit.
“He’s not mad, Mommy, he’s just crabby.”
Joy laughed.
Holly patted Sam’s arm. “You could sing to him like you sing to me when I’m crabby and need a nap.”
The look on Sam’s face was priceless. Like he was torn between laughter and shouting and couldn’t decide which way to go.
“What’s that old saying?” Joy asked. “Out of the mouths of babes...”
Sam rolled his eyes and frowned. “That’s it. Everybody out.”
Still laughing, Joy said, “Come on, Holly, let’s have some lunch. I made soup. Seemed like a good, cold day for it.”
“You made soup?” he asked.
“Uh-huh. Beef and barley.” She helped Holly get her jacket on, then zipped it closed against the cold wind. “Oh, and I made some beer bread, too.”
“You made bread.” He said it with a tinge of disbelief, and Joy couldn’t blame him. Kaye didn’t really believe in baking from scratch. Said it seemed like a waste when someone went to all the trouble to bake for her and package the bread in those nice plastic bags.
“Just beer bread. It’s quick. Anyway,” she said with a grin, “if you want lunch after your nap, I’ll leave it on the stove for you.”
“Funny.”
Still smiling to herself, Joy took Holly’s hand and led her out of the shop. She felt him watching her as they left and told herself that the heat swamping her was caused by her parka. And even she didn’t believe it.
Late at night, the big house was quiet, but not scary at all.
That thought made Joy smile to herself. She had assumed that a place this huge, with so many windows opening out onto darkness, would feel sort of like a horror movie. Intrepid heroine wandering the halls of spooky house, alone, with nothing but a flashlight—until the battery dies.
She shook her head and laughed at her own imagination. Instead of scary, the house felt like a safe haven against the night outside. Maybe it was the warmth of the honey-toned logs or maybe it was something else entirely. But one thing she was sure of was that she already loved it. Big, but not imposing, it was a happy house. Or would be if its owner wasn’t frowning constantly.
But he’d smiled with Holly, Joy reminded herself as she headed down the long hallway toward the great room. He might have wished to be anywhere else, but he had been patient and kind to her little girl, and for Joy, nothing could have touched her more.
Her steps were quiet, her thoughts less so. She hadn’t seen much of Sam since leaving him in the workshop. He’d deliberately kept his distance and Joy hadn’t pushed. He’d had dinner, alone, in the dining room, then he’d disappeared again, barricading himself in the great room. She hadn’t bothered him, had given him his space, and even now wouldn’t be sneaking around his house if she didn’t need something to read.
Holly was long since tucked in and Joy simply couldn’t concentrate on the television, so she wanted to lose herself in a book. Keep her brain too busy to think about Sam. Wondering what his secrets were. Wondering what it would be like to kiss him. Wondering what the heck she was doing.
She threw a glance at the staircase and the upper floor, where the bedrooms were—where Sam was—and told herself to not think about it. Joy had spent the day cleaning the upstairs, though she had to admit that the man was so tidy, there wasn’t much to straighten up.
But vacuuming and dusting gave her the chance to see where he slept, how he lived. His bedroom was huge, offering a wide view of the lake and the army of pine trees that surrounded it. His bed was big enough for a family of four to sleep comfortably, and the room was decorated in soothing shades of slate blue and forest green. The attached bath had had her sighing in imagined pleasure.
A sea of pale green marble, from the floors to the counters, to the gigantic shower and the soaker whirlpool tub that sat in front of a bay window with a view of the treetops. He lived well, but so solitarily it broke her heart. There were no pieces of him in the room. No photos, no art on the wall, nothing to point to this being his home. As beautiful as it all was, it was still impersonal, as if even after living there for five years he hadn’t left his own impression on the place.
He made her curious. Gorgeous recluse with a sexuality that made her want to drool whenever he was nearby. Of course, the logical explanation for her zip of reaction every time she saw the man was her self-imposed Man Fast. It had been so long since she’d been on a date, been kissed...heck, been touched, that her body was clearly having a breakdown. A shame that she seemed to be enjoying it so much.
Sighing a little, she turned, slipped into the great room, then came to a dead stop. Sam sat in one of the leather chairs in front of the stone fireplace, where flames danced across wood and tossed flickering shadows around the room.
Joy thought about leaving before he saw her. Yes, cowardly, but understandable, considering where her imaginings had been only a second or two ago. But even as she considered sneaking out, Sam turned his head and pinned her with a long, steady look.
“What do you need?”
Not exactly friendly, but not a snarl, either. Progress? She’d take it.
“A book.” With little choice, Joy walked into the room and took a quick look around. This room was gorgeous during the day, but at night, with flickering shadows floating around...amazing. Really, was there anything prettier than firelight? When she shifted her gaze back to him, she realized the glow from the fire shining in his dark brown eyes was nearly hypnotic. Which was a silly thought to have, so she pushed it away fast. “Would you mind if I borrow a book? TV is just so boring and—”
He held up one hand to cut her off. “Help yourself.”
“Ever gracious,” she said with a quick grin. When he didn’t return it, she said, “Okay, thanks.”
She walked closer, surreptitiously sliding her gaze over him. His booted feet were crossed at the ankle, propped on the stone edge of the hearth. He was staring into the fire as if looking for something. The flickering light danced across his features, and she recognized the scowl that she was beginning to think was etched into his bones. “Everything okay?”
“Fine.” He didn’t look at her. Never took his gaze from the wavering flames.
“Okay. You’ve got a lot of books.” She looked through a short stack of hardbacks on the table closest to him. A mix of mysteries, sci-fi and thrillers, mostly. Her favorites, too.
“Yeah. Pick one.”
“I’m
