Barbara Boswell - Forever Flint

They reached the small porch. She stumbled as her heel caught on the top step, and automatically, Flint reached out to catch hold of her waist, steadying her. Ashlinn laid her hands on his forearms, bracing herself.

She lifted her head and their eyes met. Their position was not unlike that of a couple on the verge of a kiss, in those first early uncertain seconds of contact before moving into each other’s arms.

Ashlinn’s heartbeat seemed to echo in her ears. “Thanks. I—I’ve been warned that the heels on these boots will end up killing me.”

“They aren’t at all practical.” Flint frowned his disapproval. “Paradise Outdoors would never carry such useless merchandise. Luckily, you’ll get a much better, functional pair of boots tomorrow.”

His fingers tightened briefly on the curve of her waist, then he dropped his hands and stepped away from her, out of touching range.

She could feel the phantom pressure of his hands on her. Ashlinn told herself she wasn’t disappointed, she was relieved he hadn’t tried to kiss her. She wouldn’t have allowed him, of course; after all, she hardly knew him.

But he hadn’t even tried . . .

“You were about to tell me about the—the strain between you and your sister-in-law,” she reminded him.

Her body was still pulsing with the urgency he’d roused—and left unslaked. Had he been affected by their proximity at all? she wondered. Since he’d half turned away from her, she couldn’t clearly observe him. Yet he seemed calm enough. She was the one whose breathing was closer to panting.

Ashlinn looked away from him, forcing herself to study the decorative grapevine wreath on the front door. Red, white and blue ribbons were woven through it, presumably in homage to last week’s Fourth of July holiday.

“About Holly . . .” Flint was struggling with his own urgency and control.

What better way to quell desire than to remember how wrong he’d been about Holly? If he were ever asked to cite his turnoffs, being wrong would head the list.

“I made the drastic mistake of jumping to all the wrong conclusions about Holly when my brother first got involved with her,” he said dolefully. “Unfortunately, I shared my opinions with Rafe and strongly advised him against marrying her.”

“Been there.” Ashlinn gave a rueful sigh. “Done that—twice. I zealously warned both my sister Courtney and my stepsister Michelle not to get involved with the men they ended up marrying.”

“Twice?” repeated Flint.

“I didn’t learn from my mistake the first time.” Ashlinn did not spare herself. “I didn’t let Courtney’s marital success keep me from insisting that Michelle was doomed to misery. I bet if Eva started dating someone seriously, you’d think long and hard about shoving your negative opinions down her throat.”

“Yes,” agreed Flint. “I certainly would.” He couldn’t envision himself making the same mistake twice.

A peculiar sense of relief was surging through him. His gross misjudgment of Holly continued to plague him, but hearing that Ashlinn had fallen prey to similar errors twice was oddly heartening.

“I told Rafe that Holly was a calculating manipulator,” he dared to confess.

Ashlinn remained unshocked. “I told Courtney and Michelle that Connor and Steve were insincere users, the kind of smooth operators who would dump them and break their hearts And both guys turned out to be model husbands and fathers, devoted to their wives and children My stepbrother said I was a sour pessimist and my own brother told me I was jealous of Courtney and Michelle.” She winced.

“Why don’t people appreciate good old-fashioned caution these days? Just try to exercise it, and others completely misunderstand your motives!” Flint was incensed on her behalf. “I’ve only spent a short tune with you, but I can certainly tell that you’re neither sour nor pessimistic.”

“Thanks,” murmured Ashlinn. “I’m not jealous of Courtney and Michelle either. Honest.”

“I believe you.” He took a deep breath. “I originally saw Holly as a schemer with an agenda and thought it was my brotherly obligation to tell Rafe what he was up against.”

“Let me guess what happened,” Ashlinn said wryly. “Holly turned out to be the ideal wife for your brother.”

“She turned out to be a saint!”

Ashlinn smiled at the hyperbole. “You have to be dead to be a saint, Flint, that’s the rule.”

“Well, Holly is a living saint,” Flint insisted. “She’s a doctor, a psychiatrist who’s established a solid practice and is respected and admired by the medical community here. Even more important, she’s made my brother happier than I’ve ever seen him. And she’s committed to those four impossible kids who aren’t even hers.”

“She does sound like a paragon. Seems like you and I have both proven how perceptive we are when it comes to love and romance,” Ashlinn said lightly. “Which is to say, not at all. We’re definitely better off dedicating our energy to our careers.”

“Yes.” Flint nodded his agreement. “But I have to admit that hearing you made the same mistake I did—twice—makes me feel less like a paranoid lunatic.”

Her dark eyes gleamed “If I’m not a sour jealous pessimist, you certainly aren’t a paranoid lunatic.”

They stared at each other, their expressions conveying mutual understanding, mutual acceptance. Both took an unconscious step closer.

“Eewww! Look who’s lurking around our house!” A piercing young voice sharply broke the aura of intimacy enveloping them. Seemingly from nowhere, a Jeep Cherokee had appeared, and emanating from it was that girlish voice of pure disdain.

Flint and Ashlinn jumped apart, almost to opposite ends of the small porch. The vehicle came to a screeching halt m the driveway, the doors were flung open, and two dark-haired girls jumped out.

Ashlinn didn’t have to ask who they were Flint’s face was dark as a thundercloud as he watched his two teenaged half sisters saunter to the door, their young faces surly as they stared from him to Ashlinn.

“Make sure you get your cash from him upfront, honey,” one girl addressed Ashlinn, her tone and her dark eyes insolent. “And I hope you’re up to date on your shots, especially your rabies shot.”

The other one snickered.

“You can apologize to Miss Carey right now, Camryn,” snapped Flint. “And you too, Kaylin.”

“’Cause you told us to?” Camryn laughed. “Yeah, right. That’ll happen.”

She brushed by Ashlinn and Flint and entered the house, her younger sister close on her heels.

Flint automatically moved to follow them inside. The door slammed shut.

“Well, now you’ve met them,” he growled. “Was I exaggerating?”

“I’ve never seen a door literally slammed in someone’s face before,” Ashlinn said uneasily. “Do they do that often?”

He didn’t bother to answer. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Ashlinn wasn’t about to argue. The teenagers couldn’t have made it more clear that she and Flint were unwelcome. And just like he’d said, taking them camping was out of the question. But just as the two turned to leave, the door opened again.

“The girls said you were here, Flint. With a, er, a friend.”

Ashlinn gaped at the man standing in the doorway, whose voice sounded exactly like Flint’s. He looked exactly like Flint, too.

She stared from one brother to the other. If she didn’t know that Flint was wearing the white shirt and khaki trousers, she wouldn’t have been able to distinguish him from the other man, who wore a pair of faded old jeans and no shirt at all. His bare bronze chest shone in the light.

“You’re twins!” she exclaimed, then grinned, unable not to. “I do have a remarkable grasp of the obvious, don’t I?”