Maureen Child - A Cinderella Story

“Not a bit,” he told her, hoping that statement would get her to back off.

“I really would.”

“Big surprise,” he muttered and then inwardly winced. Hell, he’d talked more in the last ten minutes than he had in the last year. Still, for some reason, he felt the need to defend himself and the way he lived. “I have Kaye to talk to if I desperately need conversation—which I don’t. And I do get into town now and then.” Practically never, though, he thought.

Hell, why should he go into Franklin and put up with being stared at and whispered over when he could order whatever he wanted online and have it shipped overnight? If nothing else, the twenty-first century was perfect for a man who wanted to be left the hell alone.

“Yeah, that doesn’t happen often,” she was saying. “There was actually a pool in town last summer—people were taking bets on if you’d come in at all before fall.”

Stunned, he stared at her. “They were betting on me?”

“You’re surprised?” Joy laughed and the sound of it filled the kitchen. “It’s a tiny mountain town with not a lot going on, except for the flood of tourists. Of course they’re going to place bets on the local hermit.”

“I’m starting to resent that word.” Sam hadn’t really considered that he might be the subject of so much speculation, and he didn’t much care for it. What was he supposed to do now? Go into town more often? Or less?

“Oh,” she said, waving one hand at him, “don’t look so grumpy about it. If it makes you feel better, when you came into Franklin and picked up those new tools at the hardware store, at the end of August, Jim Bowers won nearly two hundred dollars.”

“Good for him,” Sam muttered, not sure how he felt about all of this. He’d moved to this small mountain town for the solitude. For the fact that no one would give a damn about him. And after five years here, he found out the town was paying close enough attention to him to actually lay money on his comings and goings. Shaking his head, he asked only, “Who’s Jim Bowers?”

“He and his wife own the bakery.”

“There’s a bakery in Franklin?”

She sighed, shaking her head slowly. “It’s so sad that you didn’t know that.”

A short laugh shot from his throat, surprising them both.

“You should do that more often,” she said quietly.

“What?”

“Smile. Laugh. Lose the etched-in-stone-grumble expression.”

“Do you have an opinion on everything?” he asked.

“Don’t you?” she countered.

Yeah, he did. And his considered opinion on this particular situation was that he might have made a mistake in letting Joy and her daughter stay here for the next month.

But damned if he could regret it at the moment.

Three

By the following morning, Joy had decided the man needed to be pushed into getting outside himself. Sitting in the kitchen with him the night before had been interesting and more revealing than he would have liked, she was sure. Though he had a gruff, cold exterior, Joy had seen enough in his eyes to convince her that the real man was hidden somewhere beneath that hard shell he carried around with him.

She had known he’d been trying to avoid seeing her again by staying late in his workshop. Which was why she’d been waiting for him in the kitchen. Joy had always believed that it was better to face a problem head-on rather than dance around it and hope it would get better. So she’d been prepared to argue and bargain with him to make sure she and Holly could stay for the month.

And she’d known the moment he tasted her baked mostaccioli that arguments would not be necessary. He might not want her there, but her cooking had won him over. Clearly, he didn’t like it, but he’d put up with her for a month if it meant he wouldn’t starve. Joy could live with that.

What she might not be able to live with was her body’s response to being near him. She hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t felt anything remotely like awareness since splitting with Holly’s father before the little girl was born. And she wasn’t looking for it now. She had a good life, a growing business and a daughter who made her heart sing. Who could ask for more than that?

But the man...intrigued her. She could admit, at least to herself, that sitting with him in the shadow-filled night had made her feel things she’d be better off forgetting. It wasn’t her fault, of course. Just look at the man. Tall, dark and crabby. What woman wouldn’t have a few fantasies about a man who looked like he did? Okay, normally she wouldn’t enjoy the surly attitude—God knew she’d had enough “bad boys” in her life. But the shadows of old pain in his eyes told Joy that Sam hadn’t always been so closed off.

So there was interest even when she knew there shouldn’t be. His cold detachment was annoying, but the haunted look in his eyes drew her in. Made her want to comfort. Care. Dangerous feelings to have.

“Mommy, is it gonna snow today?”

Grateful for that sweet voice pulling her out of her circling thoughts, Joy walked to the kitchen table, bent down and kissed the top of her daughter’s head.

“I don’t think so, baby. Eat your pancakes now. And then we’ll take a walk down to the lake.”

“And skate?” Holly’s eyes went bright with excitement at the idea. She forked up a bite of pancake and chewed quickly, eager now to get outside.

“We’ll see if the lake’s frozen enough, all right?” She’d brought their ice skates along since she’d known about the lake. And though she was no future competitor, Holly loved skating almost as much as she loved fairy princesses.

Humming, Holly nodded to herself and kept eating, pausing now and then for a sip of her milk. Her heels thumped against the chair rungs and sounded like a steady heartbeat in the quiet morning. Her little girl couldn’t have been contained in a hotel room for a month. She had enough energy for three healthy kids and needed the room to run and play.

This house, this place, with its wide yard and homey warmth, was just what she needed. Simple as that. As for what Sam Henry made Joy feel? That would remain her own little secret.

“Hi, Sam!” Holly called out. “Mommy made pancakes. We’re cellbrating.”

“Celebrating,” Joy corrected automatically, before she turned to look at the man standing in the open doorway. And darn it, she felt that buzz of awareness again the minute her gaze hit his. So tall, she thought with approval. He wore faded jeans and the scarred boots again, but today he wore a long-sleeved green thermal shirt with a gray flannel shirt over it. His too-long hair framed his face, and his eyes still carried the secrets that she’d seen in them the night before. They stared at each other as the seconds ticked past, and Joy wondered what he was thinking.

Probably trying to figure out the best way to get her and Holly to leave, she thought.

Well, that wasn’t going to happen. She turned to the coffeemaker and poured him a cup. “Black?”

He accepted it. “How’d you guess?”

She smiled. “You look like the no-frills kind of man to me. Just can’t imagine you ordering a half-caf, vanilla bean cappuccino.”

He snorted, but took a long drink and sighed at the rush of caffeine in his system. Joy could appreciate that, since she usually got up a half hour before Holly just so she could have the time to enjoy that first, blissful cup of coffee.

“What’re you celebrating?” he asked.

Joy flushed a little. “Staying here in the ‘castle.’”

Holly’s heels continued to thump as she hummed her way through breakfast. “We’re having pancakes and then we’re going skating on the lake and—”

“I said we’ll see,” Joy reminded her.