Allison Leigh - A Weaver Beginning

She nodded. “What about your parents?”

The devil laughed mockingly in Sloan’s ear. That was what he got for showing some curiosity about Abby. She naturally showed some curiosity in return. “They died when my sister and I were twenty,” he said abruptly. Tara had turned into a homebody after their childhood, and he had been the opposite. But he knew they shared the same distaste for talking about that childhood.

“That must have been hard.”

Not any harder than growing up without parents at all, which seemed to be the case for her. He folded his arms on the counter again, leaning closer. Close enough to smell the clean fragrance of her shining brown hair. “You start work when the holiday break is over?”

“In two days. At least it’ll be a short week.”

“Nervous?”

She shook her head. Made a face. “Guess it shows, huh?”

“You’ll be fine.”

She toyed with her glass for a moment. “What do you do?”

“Deputy sheriff. For the next few months, anyway.” He didn’t know what the hell had him offering that last bit. Maybe a thin attempt to lay some groundwork. Some temporary groundwork.

“What happens after that?”

He hesitated and wasn’t sure what he would have said if the electricity hadn’t kicked on just then. Light from the overhead fixture flooded the kitchen, and the television came to life.

“Look,” she whispered, leaning to the side to peer around him. “The ball in New York is nearly down.”

He glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, the TV showed the famed crystal ball inching its way down while a mass of people around it cheered and screamed.

“Three.” He turned back to watch Abby, whose gray gaze was focused on the countdown.

“Two,” she whispered on a smile.

“One,” he finished.

Her pretty eyes lifted to his. “Happy New Year, Sloan.”

Maybe it was the devil. Maybe it was the angel.

Maybe it was just him.

“It is now,” he murmured. And he leaned the last few inches across the counter and slowly pressed his mouth against hers.

Chapter Three

Shocked, Abby inhaled sharply.

He tasted like dark chocolate. Cold milk.

And things that she’d never experienced and suddenly wanted to, so very badly.

But just when she was adjusting to the notion that Sloan McCray’s lips were brushing across hers, he was lifting his head. “Next time you talk to your friends, you can tell them that you lived up to your promise.”

He meant sharing the chocolate, of course. But she couldn’t do a single thing except sit there and mutely nod.

The lines arrowing out from the corners of his dark eyes crinkled a little. “You pour a helluva cocktail,” he murmured before turning away and walking silently to the door.

A moment later, he was gone.

And Abby was still sitting there as mute as a stump of wood.

“Izzit New Year’s?” Dillon’s sleepy voice startled her so much she jumped off her stool as if she’d been stung. She rounded the counter and went over to the couch where he was knuckling his eyes.

“It is. And time for you to go to bed, Mr. Marcum.”

He giggled a little, the way he always did when she called him that. “I stayed awake the whole time, didn’t I,” he boasted as he slid off the couch, dragging his blanket after him.

“Sure thing, honey.”

He padded barefoot into the first bedroom. “I think Mr. Sloan is a White Hat,” he said.

She folded back the comforter for Dillon to climb into bed. It was noticeably cooler in his room than in the living room, but the comforter would keep him warm enough. “Why’s that?” The video game was the classic story of good against evil. White Hats against Black Hats. Of course in this instance, it was geared for children, so the hats were worn by animated dinosaurs. Dillon loved all things dinosaur.

Her little brother shrugged as he climbed onto his twin-size bed. “’Cause.”

“Sounds like a good reason to me.” She brushed his dark hair off his forehead and kissed him. “Go to sleep. Oatmeal with raisins in the morning.”

He threw his arms tightly around her neck. “You’re not gonna leave, too, are you, Abby?”

Her heart squeezed. He didn’t mean leave his bedroom.

He meant leave.

“I’m not ever going to leave,” she promised. She smacked a kiss on both of his cheeks and settled him against his pillow. “Ever,” she added.

He let out a long breath as if her answer had actually been in doubt then grabbed his fleece blanket up against his cheek and turned onto his side.

Abby left his room, pulling the door halfway closed so that he’d still be able to see the light from the bathroom next door.

Then she returned to the living room, blew out all the candles and cleaned up, washing and drying the crystal glasses carefully before putting them back in the cupboard.

Seeing that the fire was burning low and steadily, safely contained by the screen, she shut off the lights in preparation of going to bed herself.

Instead of going to her own room, though, she found herself at the front window, peering into the darkness.

She touched her fingertips to her lips.

Felt her stomach swoop around.

It was a first for her.

Oh, not the kiss. She’d been kissed before. Just never at midnight. Never on New Year’s Eve.

But she needed to remember that to Sloan McCray, the kiss was probably nothing more than a simple gesture.

She looked at the house next door. Wondered where his bedroom was. Wondered if he was thinking about her, too.

But then she shook her head. He’d called her “wet behind the ears.” And the way she was standing there, gazing at his house in the darkness, would only prove that she was. So she turned on her heels and went into her bedroom across the hall from Dillon’s.

Her bed wasn’t the narrow twin that Dillon’s was, but it was just as innocent. She peeled off her leggings and her sweater and pulled open her drawer. Her pj’s were about as seductive as Dillon’s, too. Soft cotton pants with pink-and-green polka dots and a matching T-shirt with a grinning skunk on the front of it.

She made a face as she changed and threw herself down on the middle of her full-size bed.

Her room was even chillier than Dillon’s, but she felt hot. Flushed. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why.

Even before learning that the man next door was a true-life American hero, he’d made her stomach swoop.

She stared into the darkness and pressed her fingertips to her lips again.

Then she groaned and flipped onto her side, hugging the pillow to her cheek.

* * *

The mattress springs squeaked slightly when Sloan flipped restlessly onto his back for the tenth time.

Dawn was finally relieving the darkness seeping around the blinds, and instead of lying there, tossing and turning pointlessly for another few hours, he pushed off the bed and went to the window. He tilted the blinds just enough so that he could look down on the house next door.

Did the window on the side of the house belong to her bedroom or Dillon’s?

He muttered a low oath. Kissing her had been stupid.

Sweet as all get-out.

But still stupid.

Abby Marcum was a nice girl. And, sweet lips or not, she was not what he needed in his life.

He didn’t know what he needed. But he knew it was not a girl like her. A girl with responsibilities. With ties. The kind of girl who’d expect ties.

As well she should.

If there was one thing Sloan was not good at, it was ties. He was trying where Tara was concerned, but even with his own sister he wasn’t winning any awards.

He turned away from the window, dragged on his running gear and went outside. The air was frozen, sending his breath into clouds around his head as he stretched. He usually ran in the middle of the night. Maybe that was crazy, but it was better than tossing and turning while sleeplessness drove him nuts.