Allison Leigh - A Weaver Beginning

She’d grown up in Braden, which was the closest town of any size to Weaver. She knew how small-town grapevines worked, so she wasn’t particularly surprised that he knew about her before she so much as opened her mouth. “I am. But I’ll be splitting my time with the junior high.” The schools were next door to each other, sharing their facilities. “I’m Abby Marcum.” She smiled. “And you are...?”

“From next door.” He stabbed the shovel into the snow.

She’d assumed that, given that he’d come from the house next door. “So that answers where.” The muscles in her arms were starting to shake, so she started toward the house, her boots plowing fresh paths through the snow. “What about who?”

“That looks too heavy for you.”

“Does it?” She kept right on moving, passing him on her way toward the three steps that led up to the front door.

“Would have been easier if you’d cleared the driveway before you started unpacking.”

Her fingers dug into the cardboard. “Probably,” she agreed blithely and lifted her boot, cautiously feeling for the first porch step. She’d have needed a snow shovel for that, though, and that wasn’t something she’d bothered trying to cram into her small car along with everything else. Weaver had hardware stores, after all. And neighbors who had shovels to borrow, too.

The man gave a mighty sigh, his bare hands brushing hers as he lifted the box out of her grasp. “The bottom’s about to give way,” he said and walked past her into the house.

She hurried after him. “Um, thanks.” He was already setting the box on the narrow breakfast bar separating the small living room from the even smaller kitchen. One look at the cardboard told her he was right. The crystal inside could have crashed right through. She flipped open the box and pulled out a few of the glasses she’d wrapped so carefully in newspaper just to make certain they’d safely survived. “My grandmother’s crystal.”

“Mmm.” He didn’t sound particularly interested as he looked around the living room. She’d bought the house furnished. And while the furniture that occupied the room was dated, it was clean and in good condition. With the half-dozen boxes that they’d already carried in stacked on the floor against the wall next to the brick fireplace, the small room was almost full. “It’s freezing in here.”

“I know. Something’s wrong with the furnace. I’ll get a fire started, though, soon as I get the car emptied. And once the holiday is over, I’ll call someone in to get the furnace going.”

She smiled across at Dillon, who was perched nervously on the edge of the couch, watching them with big eyes. He still wore his coat. She’d bought it at a clearance sale last year expecting that he would have grown into it by now. But he still looked dwarfed in it. “A fire will have us toasty warm in no time,” she told her little brother brightly.

“And then we get popcorn like you promised?”

Dillon loved popcorn like almost nothing else. “Absolutely.”

“You’ve got wood?”

At the deep-voiced question, she focused on the man and felt something jolt inside her. Lordy. He really was handsome. And vaguely familiar. “Um...no. No wood. But I’ll get some.” Along with that snow shovel. Having one of her own was better than borrowing.

“Stores are closed today and tomorrow for New Year’s.” His voice was even. Unemotional. “I’ve got plenty, though. I’ll bring some over.” He turned on his boot heel and left the house.

“Who is he?” Dillon whispered once he was gone.

“The neighbor. You can put away your games in the television cabinet. Soon as I finish with everything, I’ll play a game of ‘White Hats 3’ with you.” She’d gotten the latest version of the video game for him for Christmas and it was already his favorite. “Okay?”

He nodded and she went back outside.

The man had left the snow shovel sticking out of the snow banked against the side of the porch. She looked from it to the house next door. It was two-storied and twice the size of hers.

Definitely large enough to hold a wife and kids if Tall-Dark-and-Nameless had any.

She trudged back to the car and pulled the box containing their new television from the backseat. Her girlfriends from Braden had pooled their money together to buy it as a going-away present. It was mercifully lightweight, and she was heading up the steps with it in her arms when the neighbor appeared again bearing a load of wood in his arms.

She quickly got out of his way as he carried it inside. He crouched next to the brick hearth and started stacking the wood. As he worked, he looked over at her brother. “What’s your name?”

Dillon shot Abby a nervous look. “Dillon.”

The man’s face finally showed a little warmth. He smiled slightly. Gently. And even though it was directed at her little brother, Abby still felt the effect.

She let out a careful breath and set the television on the floor. Her girlfriends had also given her a box of Godiva chocolates before she’d left, with instructions to indulge herself on New Year’s Eve—and share the chocolates with a male other than her little brother.

The chocolates were in her suitcase. She could give the box to her no-name neighbor and technically live up to the promise she’d made. Of course, he’d probably take the chocolates home to his wife. Which wasn’t exactly what her girlfriends had in mind.

She shook off the silly thoughts and tried to focus on the television, but her gaze kept slipping back to the man, who was still looking at her little brother.

“You want to bring me some of that newspaper from your mom’s crystal?”

“She’s not my mom,” Dillon said as he slid off the couch and retrieved the crumpled papers that Abby had tossed aside. He sidled over to the man, holding them out at arm’s length.

She almost missed the speculative glance the man gave her before he took the paper from Dillon. He wadded it up and stuck it in the fireplace, between a couple of angled logs. “Got a match, bud?”

“Here.” Abby quickly pulled a lighter out of her purse and carried it over.

“You smoke?” His tone was smooth, yet she still felt the accusation.

“You sound remarkably like my grandfather used to.”

A full beat passed before his lips quirked. “My sister keeps telling me I’m getting old before my time,” he said. “Must be true if I strike you as grandfatherly.” He took the lighter and set the small flame to the newspaper. When he was sure it took, he straightened and left the lighter on the wood mantel.

“Abby’s my sister,” Dillon said so suddenly that she shot him a surprised look.

The man didn’t look surprised. And he wasn’t the least bit grandfatherly, though Abby didn’t figure it would be appropriate to tell him so. He simply nodded at this additional information, not knowing how unusual it was for Dillon to offer anything where a stranger was concerned. He set the fireplace screen back in place. “What grade are you in?”

But her brother’s bravery only went so far. He ducked his chin into his puffy down collar. “Second,” he whispered and hurried back to the couch. He sat down on the edge of a cushion again and tucked his bare fingers under his legs.

Abby knew the best thing for Dillon was to keep things as normal as possible. So she ignored the way he was carefully looking away from them and focused on the tall man as he straightened. She was wearing flat-heeled snow boots, and he had at least a foot on her five-one. Probably a good eighty pounds, too, judging by the breadth of his shoulders. “Do you have kids?” Maybe a second-grader who’d become friends with Dillon.

“Nope.” Which didn’t really tell her whether there was a wife or not. “How much more do you need to unload?”