guard would remain up. But she did allow her body to loosen. She’d been holding herself so erect that she’d need a masseuse to get the knots out.
“Please let me finish. I also want to thank you for something,” he said.
“Thank me? For what?”
“For bringing a smile again to my daughter’s face.”
Chapter Five
“She’s a sweet girl.”
“But she’s been through a lot. It’s not very often I see her smile and giggle and act like the five-year-old she is.”
“What’s wrong with her?” The question was out before the impertinence of it dawned on Amber. She’d always been one to speak her mind first and worry about the consequences later. The cloud that shadowed his face told her without words that she’d done it again. “Never mind,” she added. “Don’t answer that. Your apology’s accepted, Chief Evans. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
She gave him a wide berth as she moved toward the door leading back to the living room and the safety and comfort of other people.
Paul watched her retreat. He didn’t feel a need to bolster his own defense mechanisms in response to her anger; to his utter amazement, what he was feeling was a surge of protectiveness. But everything about Amber Montgomery said “woman with a past—avoid like the plague.”
He couldn’t determine if she didn’t like cops in general or if it was him in particular. Whatever the case, Amber brought out in him an interest that extended beyond the professional.
Since it clearly wasn’t reciprocated, he’d have to move on.
He hadn’t believed anyone existed who could draw the kids out of the shells in which they’d lived these past few years. But Amber Montgomery, the Cookie Lady, had done just that, not only for Sutton and Jonathan, but for him, as well.
Moving to Oregon, this little town in particular, had facilitated the healing process for the three of them. Paul hadn’t expected to find love in Wayside. But he’d hoped to find a woman with whom he was compatible, someone who could open her heart and accept not only him, but the two children he was now raising as his own.
Meanwhile, as another consideration, Marnie Shepherd was great with the kids. They liked her and the time they spent at Sunshine and Rainbows. Of course, no one would ever replace their mother, but Jonathan and Sutton still needed mothering. Every child did.
“Come on out here, Chief. The reverend is going to say grace, then we’ll eat.”
Paul joined the others in the living room where Cliff Baines waited to lead the dinner guests in prayer.
Looking around the assembled group, Paul realized just what Haley and Matt Brandon-Dumaine were up to. Their little soiree included two married couples and four singles who looked likely to be matched up. And if the episode with the cookies in the squad car served as an indicator, Caleb was well and truly infatuated with Amber Montgomery.
That meant Matt and Haley had paired him with Marnie for the evening. Paul wasn’t opposed to that. He enjoyed speaking with her at church. With her pretty smile, bubbly personality and her way with children, Marnie was an attractive woman. He’d never believed in love at first sight or any of that romantic nonsense. People got together because they were compatible. And Marnie got along well with Jonathan and Sutton. That was a good place to begin.
He moved into the small circle they’d formed for grace and looked at Marnie again. She smiled as she leaned over, telling Haley something. Paul nodded to himself, silently agreeing with the not-so-subtle matchmaking.
Maybe he would ask Marnie out to dinner and a movie. For some reason, though, Paul’s eye kept wandering to the aloof blonde with the haunted eyes. On the pretense of moving a chair, he shifted his position toward her.
Amber had been standing next to Matt, but when she bowed her head, a strong hand clasped hers. Her gaze flew to her right. Paul Evans stood there, tall, strong, his head bowed in prayer, his hand holding hers. Warmth suffused her.
She cleared her throat and tried to ease her hand from his. But he held on as the minister started to pray.
“Thank you, Lord, for bringing good friends together to share good times and good food. Amen.”
Amber opened one eye to peer at Cliff. That was it? That was his idea of grace? What about blessing the hands that prepared the meal, and three minutes of other supplications and prayer-time clichés? She knew them all.
“Amber?”
She glanced up at Paul. “Yes?” she said, surprised that he didn’t know you weren’t supposed to talk during a prayer or moment of silence.
“You can let my hand go now.”
Her gaze swept the room. The others, already having broken away from the prayer circle, headed toward the dining room. Amber’s face flamed. She dropped Paul’s hand and hastened a safe distance away.
“Steaks are ready!” Matt called out from the kitchen before she could think of a good reason to leave the dinner party.
Rain may have chased the cookout indoors, but it didn’t dampen the enthusiasm inside. Since the evening was supposed to be informal, everyone grabbed a plate and helped themselves from the feast Matt had laid out on the dining room table. Instead of settling there, Haley led the way back to the living room, where the guests spread out wherever they felt comfortable.
For Nancy Baines and Marnie, that meant the floor with the coffee table pressed into service.
Caleb perched on the edge of a chair near them. “I’ll grab some napkins for you ladies.”
When Paul and Cliff claimed two of the TV trays, Amber moved hers a bit away.
Matt got his wife situated and kissed her.
“Hey, none of that,” Amber said.
“Yeah,” Marnie added, laughing. “You’ll make the rest of us jealous.”
“I still have six months to go, but he acts as if delivery is imminent.”
“It is,” Matt said. “The time’s going to fly by.”
While Marnie and Nancy asked about baby names and nursery colors, Amber watched the byplay between Haley and Matt. A lot of love flowed between them. In their soft gazes swelling with shared affection and regard it was there for all the world to see.
Once upon a time she’d loved like that—or so she’d thought at the time. The love hadn’t flowed both ways, though, and Amber found out the hard way just how much she’d pay for that.
She supposed that some people truly were happy. But for her, love was a lie she’d learned to reject. She’d learned to simply live, day to day. And that suited her just fine.
Again and again, however, her gaze slipped to her cousin, and something akin to jealousy snipped at her, surprising her.
Keep it light, she coached herself. If she allowed what-if thoughts to intrude, she’d
