Glynna Kaye - At Home in His Heart

“I took down the wasp’s nest from the porch this morning,” Bryce said.

“You did?” Pleasure lit Sandi’s face. Her smile sparkled genuine appreciation.

Oh, man, she was looking up at him like he was the king of the world. No wonder her late husband, Keith, hadn’t stood a chance. When she wasn’t busy bossing you around, she was pumping up your ego until your shirt buttons popped off.

Bryce grinned down at her, openly basking in the moment—just as he secretly had last night when she’d come mighty close to flirting with him a time or two. Told him he was a handy man to have around. But why was he lapping up her praise like some kind of parched desert critter?

“Now you need to let me know if those wasps come back. They often try to rebuild a few times.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“Promise?”

She nodded again.

They stood looking at each other, just like

last night, her face lightly flushed.

Only, this time she wasn’t mad at him.

At Home in His Heart

Glynna Kaye

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.

See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up;

do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the

desert and streams in the wasteland.

— Isaiah 43:18–19

To my Aunt Betty, my “second mom,”

who is always in my corner and cheering me on—

and whose creativity, sense of humor, faith and

perseverance continue to inspire me.

Oh, man. Just his luck.

Sandi Bradshaw.

Keith’s widow.

Bryce Harding stared down at the dainty blonde with shiny, blunt-cut hair, her long-lashed gaze leveled on him. Dark blue eyes reflected the same dismay that slugged him in the stomach when she’d turned toward him. She recovered faster than he did, though. Planting fists on her curvaceous, jeans-clad hips, she gave him a wary-eyed once-over, taking in his T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops.

“How may I help you—Sergeant?”

He forced cheerful warmth into his words. “I didn’t know you worked here, Sandi.”

Had he known, he’d have steered clear of Dix’s Woodland Warehouse tonight. He liked to patronize locally owned businesses in his mountain-country hometown of Canyon Springs, Arizona. But a big-box store would have fit the bill just as well.

“I work here part-time when I’m not teaching school.” She folded her arms, expression still guarded. “May I help you find something?”

“I—” Why was he scrambling for words just like he did last winter when he approached her? He’d voiced his sympathy concerning her loss. That seemed appropriate considering he and Keith had been buddies since second grade. But it had been an awkward meeting. She’d pretty much looked at him as if he’d sprouted antlers. Kind of how she was doing now. She’d murmured ill-at-ease words of thanks and that was that.

He’d tried to convince himself at the time it was because he’d caught her off-guard. Maybe she hadn’t heard he’d gotten out of the army, had returned to town. But more likely, judging from the look on her face both then and now, her too-candid husband had spilled the beans. Told her about his best friend’s campaign to keep him from marrying the cute little fox he’d fallen combat helmet over steel-toed boots for.

Sometimes, Bradshaw…

“I—” He cleared his throat and scrubbed the knuckles of one hand along the jawline of his beard. “I’m looking for one of those patch kits. You know, that putty you fix walls with.”

“I’m afraid we don’t carry anything like that.” She sounded a little too pleased to share the news of a gap in the Warehouse’s extensive inventory. “You’ll need to go to the hardware store down the street.”

“Already did. He’s out of stock.”

A perky eyebrow lifted. “If you’ve exhausted the local merchants, I’d say you’re in for a drive to Pinetop-Lakeside’s Home Depot.”

She tilted her head, dipped her chin slightly and looked up at him—a mannerism that made his breath catch. A subtle bit of appealing body language that the way-too-smitten Keith had described to him in detail. More than once. Funny how he’d articulated it so well it seemed almost familiar now, not the mannerism of a stranger.

Pulling himself back to the conversation, he cleared his throat again. “Think I’ll try the discount store first.”

“You do that.”

“I intend to.”

He didn’t need her approval to go to the discount store. To drive to Home Depot. To do anything. It appeared she’d changed little in the nine years since she’d first caught Keith’s eye with that “Dear Soldier” letter of hers. Or since he himself had issued his buddy a disregarded warning. Keith laughed him off, but she was still a bit too pushy for his own tastes.

“Is there anything else you need?”

Obviously she wanted to get rid of him, but he wasn’t going to let her shoo him out the door. Free country and all that.

“My grandma could use some…aspirin.”

Though she had a medicine cabinet full of it.

Sandi’s resolute expression transformed to one of concern. “Mae isn’t feeling well?”

That’s right, she knew his Grandma Harding. Grandma Mae he called her. “Arthritis is acting up.”

She took an unexpected step forward, but his body blocked her and she pinned him with a pointed look. Guess she wanted him to get out of her way. After a moment’s hesitation, he obediently stepped aside, the wooden floor creaking under his weight, but he caught the sweet scent of her as she maneuvered around him. Vanilla. Like Grandma Mae used in her chocolate chip cookies.

She motioned for him to accompany her as she headed down a store aisle. Past the souvenir items, sweatshirts and backpacks he followed along, determined not to let the alluring sway of her hips distract him.

After all, he was New Bryce now.

She was Keith’s wife.

And not his type by a long shot.

She halted in front of a shelf and bent to snag an aspirin box. Placed it in his open palm. “This is what you want. Easier on the stomach, apparently.”

He stared down at the box, then back at her. “You a nurse now or something?”

“No, but Sharon Dixon, who owns this store, is on an aspirin regimen for her heart. I’ve heard her talk about the benefits of this type.” She pointed at the pain remedy. “Try this one.”

“Does it come in a larger size?”

She took the box from his hand, her soft, slight one brushing his own, igniting his palm with a sensitivity he didn’t know it possessed. Involuntarily his hand fisted, but a moment later she pried open his fingers to fill it with a supersize variety of the same aspirin brand.

“Anything else Mae could use? A heating pad, maybe? I’ve heard that sometimes helps.”

He studied the cardboard container, then looked at her again. She sounded sincere enough. Helpful. Concerned about his grandma. Maybe this was the side of her she’d let Keith glimpse. Softening her—how should he put it?—uncompromising inclinations.

“I think this will do. Thanks.”

“Very good.” Her tone reverted to the impersonal, as if she’d again realized to whom she’d been talking—chatting with the man who’d done his best to save his buddy from a lifetime of regret. She headed back down the aisle. “I can check you out up at the front.”

He followed her to the polished wooden counter and set the box down, then fished in a back pocket for his wallet. Pulled out a twenty, then broached a touchy subject. “I guess the museum will be open Memorial Day?”

With Sandi being the president of the local historical society, he’d had to call her several weeks ago. Had to notify her of upcoming changes to the agreement on the space his grandma leased to the Canyon Springs Historical Museum. It hadn’t gone over well.