Jillian Hart - Almost Heaven

Why would he do that? Didn’t a woman who worked hard to make her own living deserve a break? He sure thought so. “Zach’s at his garage. I’ll take the tire over for him to patch.”

“He’s my brother-in-law, and I can do it.”

“Toll House, no walnuts. I have a soft spot for butterscotch chips.

He left her standing there, watching him with a slack jaw as he yanked the jack from his cruiser’s trunk. “I’m helping you, no matter what. Just accept it.”

“I should help you.”

“Why? It would make me look bad. I’ve got my public image to think about. Voters care about that kind of thing.”

He didn’t care about his image, he worked hard to do the right thing and he was proud of his record. He had time, and in helping her maybe he’d find a way to approach her. Ask her professional opinion. “I’m not taking no for an answer. Your only option is to let me do my job.”

She studied him and the jack he was carrying and the nearly flat tire. “Fine. Thank you. The horses—”

“Will be fine. I’ve done this before.”

“Okay.”

She didn’t sound happy, but Cameron bet that she’d let him do it. He wasn’t about to budge, he’d been waiting for this chance forever, that’s what it felt like. If he had a choice, then he’d want her to stay and watch so they could talk while he worked.

He knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t hang around. She kept her distance from men, not just him, and with good reason.

He felt her sadness every time he was around her. Now maybe he was imagining it, because he’d been there to arrest Jerrod Melcher, and he saw how bad she’d been hurt. That was likely to make any woman wary about men for a long time.

It was understandable.

As he watched her cross the road, jaywalking, heading straight to her family’s coffee shop, a streak of pain jabbed through his heart. A widower was used to feeling a certain amount of pain down deep, but this was something different. Something that felt a lot like longing.

One thing was for sure. When Kendra looked at him, she didn’t feel any positive emotion. Not a chance. When she looked at him she remembered that night. He could feel that, too.

Perhaps he should just leave her alone. Ask Sally at the Long Horn Stables for help instead.

Frustrated, he got to work.

It was her trailer, she ought to be dealing with it. But that stubborn sheriff had refused to leave, so what was she going to do? Stand there and make small talk? She didn’t need his help and she was getting it anyway. It ate at her as the bell over the coffee shop’s door jangled.

The welcome breeze from the air-conditioning skimmed over her, but it didn’t cool her anger. Men were bossy, every one of them. Who did the sheriff think he was that he could just do what he wanted to her trailer?

Face it, you appreciate that he’s helping.

Sure, but it still bugged her. She was hot, exhausted, and dealing with a flat tire in over hundred-degree weather would have put her over the edge. Well, at least close to it.

Because of Cameron, she was able to rest for a few minutes instead of dealing with one more disaster in a doom-filled day. She didn’t want to be grateful to him. But she was.

See why it was a good idea to stay far away from men? Even the nice ones?

“Kendra? You look too hot, are you all right?” Gramma sat at the far end of the otherwise empty room, behind one of the cloth-covered tables. Ignoring her spread of papers and her open laptop, she examined Kendra over the lines in her bifocals. “Something is wrong. Why are you back so soon?”

“I’m fine and it’s past closing time.” Kendra flicked off the neon sign and turned the Open sign in the window to Closed. “How long have you been in here slaving over the bookkeeping?”

“Goodness, let me see.” She checked her gold wristwatch. “For much longer than I thought!”

“You lose track of time when you’re doing the books. I do the same thing.”

“I suppose so!” Gramma took off her glasses and wiped them on the corner hem of her stylish summer blouse. “I’ve lost two dollars and seventy cents I can’t find anywhere. I’d just finish the deposit and say, forget it. But it’ll be all I think about when I get home. Come, dear, sit down. You look as though you’ve got too much sun.”

“No need to fuss, I’m fine. I’m going to raid the kitchen and pray there are some leftovers in the fridge. I’m too beat to cook when I get home.”

“I knew it. You work too hard, sweetie. You can’t work every minute of every day.”

“I take a few minutes off now and then.”

“Don’t sass me, young lady. You’ve been skipping meals.”

“Not intentionally.”

Kendra ducked into the kitchen to avoid the lecture. She knew what was coming when Gramma got started. She loved her grandmother within an inch of her life, but how Gramma fussed! Kendra yanked open the industrial refrigerator and studied the contents. Jackpot!

Gramma’s sandals tapped on the floor, announcing her approach to the kitchen.

“I can do it myself.” Kendra pulled a bowl of chicken salad from the top shelf. “Do you want me to make you a sandwich, too?”

“Me? You’re the one needing to eat. Give me that. Where’s the mayonnaise?”

“I said I’d do it and I meant it.” Kendra wrapped her grandmother into a hug and breathed in the honeysuckle sweetness of her perfume. “You’ve had a long day, and you don’t need to make it longer by doing one single thing for me. You work too much.”

“I’ve got good help. The girls I’ve hired this summer have been a real blessing. There’s the macaroni salad you like in the bottom shelf. No, let me get it.”

Kendra snatched the big stainless-steel bowl from the shelf. “Out. Go back to your table. Shoo!”

“Nice try, but I wrote the book on bossy.” Gramma dug through the pantry and came up with a wrapped loaf of homemade bread. “We’ll both fix us something to eat while you tell me about your new horses.”

“You’re a tricky woman, Gramma.”

“Thanks, dear, I try. Hand me the serrated knife.”

Kendra did as she was asked and found two plates while she was digging through the dishwasher. “I won the bid for the prettiest mustangs I’ve gotten yet. One is as wild and mean as a bull, but the others have potential.”

“You bought a mean horse?” Gramma’s disapproval wreathed her soft, lovely face, as she cut thick slices of wheat-nut bread. “Is that safe?”

“He’s a stallion.”

“I don’t like the sound of that! Not at all. Boarding and training horses is one thing. But a stallion? How will you handle him? And he’s wild, to boot!”

“I have a little tiny eensy-beensy bit of experience with horses, remember?” Kendra twisted open the jar of mayo. “I’ve been riding since before I could walk.”

“I didn’t approve of that, either, the way your father would put you and your sisters on the backs of horses when you were nothing but toddlers!” Gramma’s eyes twinkled, though. “He must be a good-looking horse, if you bought him.”

“He’s a beauty. Bright chestnut coat. Perfect white socks. A long black mane and tail. And his lines…he’s got some Arabian in him.” Kendra sighed. “Of course, he gives new meaning to the word wild. I’m sure I can tame him, so don’t start worrying. I haven’t been killed by a horse yet.”

“Heavens, I should hope not! You do have a way with them. I don’t doubt that.” Gramma bit her lip as she layered meat mixture and cheese on a slice of bread. As if she were thinking better of saying anything more.

Kendra whipped the knife from her grandmother’s hand. “You go sit down. I’ll finish this up and bring you a cup of iced tea to the table. Go. Away with you.”