Willowleaf Lane. RaeAnne Thayne
Spence had only to look at her and she was twelve again, dropping her ice cream cone down her shirt when he had smiled at her at the county fair.
Apparently, her old habits didn’t just die hard, they went down kicking and screaming and then resurrected themselves at the least opportune moment.
“Charlotte!” he exclaimed when he came close enough to recognize her. “I thought that was you but I wasn’t sure.”
She could feel her face heat. “Oh, it’s me,” she muttered.
“Are you okay? What happened?”
You. You happened.
“I’m not sure. I think I just came down on the edge of the curb and lost my balance.”
“I’m so sorry. Here. Let’s get you back on your feet.”
He held a hand out and she eyed it balefully, even though she knew she didn’t have a choice but to accept his help. She gripped his hand and told herself she was completely imagining the spark arcing between them.
He reached his other hand beneath her elbow and helped her up. When she put weight on her ankle, that pain roared through her again and she would have slid back to the ground if not for his supporting hold.
“Ow,” she said in a small voice, when what she really wanted to do was burst out into tears. Having six older brothers had taught her early to man up and hide her tears until she was in the safety of her bedroom or they would freak out and not let her play with them anymore.
“Did you break something?”
Wouldn’t that just be her luck? “I don’t think so. I just twisted my ankle.”
“That scrape looks nasty.”
The pain from the ankle had been so overwhelming, she had hardly noticed the abrasion on her palm but now she could see blood was beginning to seep around the edges of the tiny embedded pebbles. She must have thrown out a hand to catch herself as she went down.
Stirring fudge would certainly be more of a challenge with a big, ungainly bandage on her hand.
“Let me help you inside, and I can take a better look at that ankle and clean off the scrape. I have no idea where the bandages might be in the house but I can probably find something.”
“That’s not necessary. My house is just there.”
She pointed to her whimsical little cottage, tucked amid the trees.
“Great house. I noticed it when we were house shopping yesterday.”
“I like it.” Until you moved in down the street, anyway.
“This seems like a pretty nice neighborhood.”
Again, until you moved in. “It is. There’s a good mix of vacation homes and year-round residents.”
She couldn’t believe she was standing here calmly talking real estate with Spence while her ankle breathed fire up her leg and her palm sizzled along with it.
She was beginning to feel a little light-headed.
“The town has certainly changed since I lived here,” he went on. “I barely recognized some of these neighborhoods when the agent was taking us around yesterday.”
“It’s grown, hasn’t it. Will you excuse me?”
Hoping she didn’t pass out, she shifted in the direction of her house. The thirty feet between them seemed insurmountable, as tough as the 10K she ran with Alex in the spring.
She took a step away from him but made it no farther and would have fallen again if he hadn’t rushed forward and absorbed her weight into his solid bulk.
“You need to see a doctor for that.”
He was warm. Incredibly warm. And how was it possible he still smelled good after jogging? She caught a hint of laundry soap from his T-shirt and some kind of sexy citrus and musk aftershave.
“I only twisted an ankle. Not the first time. Once I ice it and take some weight off, it will be fine.”
She hoped. She did not have time for this. She managed to extricate herself from his arms and hobbled another step. By sheer force of will, she managed to remain upright, though it took every ounce of strength.
She made it maybe four steps before she heard a muffled curse.
“You’re as stubborn as ever, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said stiffly.
“I’m talking about the girl who once insisted on going on a six-mile bike ride with Dylan and me, not once mentioning she had walking pneumonia.”
“I don’t remember that,” she lied.
“Funny, I have a vivid memory of it. You just about passed out before the end of it.”
“I’m sorry I don’t have time to stand around reminiscing with you but I’ve got to change and get to work. See you later.”
She gave what she hoped looked like a jaunty wave and not a dyspeptic robotic one and started toward her house, willing down the pain with every step and trying to figure out how she would squeeze in an appointment with Dr. Harris that morning.
After just a few more steps, her ankle gave out, and she had to grab hold of a convenient aspen sapling for support.
Next moment, Spence swore again under his breath—a surprisingly mild oath for a man who had spent ten years as a professional athlete. Suddenly her feet were swept out from under her, and she was lifted into the air quite effortlessly.
Oh, fudge. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath, cradled tight between hard arms and an even more solid chest, but she did her best to gather the scattered corners of her brain.
“Put me down! This is ridiculous. I can walk.”
“Maybe. But I would hate to see you do more damage to that ankle by putting weight on it if you’ve seriously injured it.”
He wasn’t even breathing hard. Eighty pounds ago, he probably would have needed a couple teammates to help carry her down the street.
“I’m not going to hurt my ankle. Please. Put me down.”
He smelled even better up close. Some small, stupid part of her wanted to lean her head on his shoulder and just inhale his warm neck, right there below his rugged jawline.
“You’re tight as a drum. Relax. I’m not going to drop you.”
“So you say,” she muttered. Her insides seemed to flutter and dance and everything girlie inside her hummed to life.
How could she possibly be attracted to him, after everything? It completely belied logic. It was only situational attraction, she told herself. He was big and muscled and she couldn’t help being aware of the heat and scent of him.
Nobody except her brothers had ever lifted her up, and even they hadn’t done it in years.
“How long have you lived here?” he asked in a conversational tone, as if they were sitting on counter stools at the café passing the time.
She really, really hoped none of her neighbors were awake and gazing out their window at the morning view. This wouldn’t exactly be easy to explain, how she found herself in the arms of the town’s most notorious former denizen.
On the other hand, she would look even more foolish if she put up a fuss and tried to wriggle out of his arms, onto legs she wasn’t entirely certain would support her.
Only two more houses to go and then she would be home.
“Three years,” she finally answered.
She ought to leave it at that—her life was none of his concern, thank you very much—but with nerves bubbling through her